Your World
by Uruk
Summary: Ezio and Leo are both masters at what they do, and both are willing to teach and learn from one another. As they spend time together, Leo wonders if Ezio could ever love him back. Assassin!Leo, Artist!Ezio. A mix of friendship, angst, and Ezio/Leonardo
1. Chapter 1

_For weeks he had been preparing himself for what he was about to do. He would set aside fear and uncertainty. He would let go of all dogma and superstition. He would uncover the secrets of man's inner workings. He would open himself up to a whole new world- a whole new way of thinking, a whole new way of living._

_Tonight was the night._

* * *

Deep within his dank, cold cellar lit only by the flickering glow of three white candles, Leonardo dragged a rain-soaked burlap sack over to an ancient wooden table. He hastily untied the knot at the end of the sack and deposited its contents onto the stone floor. With wide, bright eyes, he took a moment to examine the freshly dead and recently acquired corpse that lay at his feet. He hurried over to his workbench and pulled out a chopping knife from amidst the clutter of ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts.

The blade flashed in the candle light as he brought it down swiftly, tearing through flesh and muscle with precision. As the artist brought the knife back up, rivulets of glistening blood began to pool and spread along the cracks in the stone floor. Breathing deeply at the sight of the crimson liquid, he swung the knife down again at the exact same spot, and that time the weakened, shredded tendons gave way to the force of his blow.

The man of science studied the severed arm for a moment and noted the speed in which it blanched paler and paler as the sanguineous puddle around it grew larger. Having no further use for it, he set the arm aside and proceeded to chop off the other arm and both of the legs.

Devoid of appendages, the corpse was a bit lighter, but no less unwieldy as he hefted it in his arms and plopped it onto the wooden table. With a sharp scalpel blade in hand, he went to work. Holding the cutting tool as though it were a paintbrush, he sliced a line down the corpse's torso from the bottom of the chest to the top of the navel. His brow furrowed in concentration as the taught skin parted easily to the scalpel's steady pressure. The artist knew that he needed to work quickly before the coppery scent of blood was replaced by the more putrid stench of rapid decay.

Leonardo's gloved hands trembled briefly after placing the scalpel back onto the table. If word ever got out about his morbid experimentation, he would surely be labeled a heretic, hung from the gallows, and left to lie as cold and silent as the very body he was dissecting. With a quick shake of his head, he pushed those thoughts aside. The knowledge to be gained, and the satisfaction of his boundless curiosity were well worth the risk.

His hands steady once more, Leonardo grabbed the edges of the gash in the abdomen that he had created and began to slowly, but forcibly pry it apart. Thick muscle yielded to his grasp, and he was soon peering down into a gaping hole. He realized that no amount of mental preparation could reign in the nervous energy building up within him. With one final deep breath, he immersed his hand inside the body- a body that, until very recently, was moving, breathing, and living.

Leonardo's mind raced at the tactile sensations of the myriad of organs he felt with his fingertips. To his surprise, he was not disgusted in the slightest, merely fascinated by the contrast between the pleasant outer appearance of the human form, and the less appealing sight of what lay beneath the flesh.

Did he dare to go further? To reach in with both hands and actually _remove_ what he was touching? To expose it all to the light? Pull it apart, cut it to pieces, analyze it, and put it all down on paper? There was so much to do, and the prospect was overwhelming.

Suddenly a dull pounding rang loudly in his ears. It sounded so much like a beating heart, that Leonardo leapt from his chair and stared in horror at the corpse's face, half expecting it to open its eyes and rise from the table in outrage. He peeled off his bloodied gloves and ran a hand through his hair as he steadied himself. He was far too rational a man to be carried away with such hysteria. Again he heard the pounding and was able to recognize the sound for what it was. He covered the corpse with a large sheet and stepped gingerly to avoid the pool of blood at his feet.

It was very late, and Leonardo received few visitors, so unless a curious guard had spotted him dragging the large burlap sack into his workshop, there was really only one other person who would knock on his door.

Still young and relatively unknown, Leonardo was somewhat of a loner by nature. After completing his apprenticeship under a master painter named Verrocchio, Leonardo immersed himself in his work by painting, drawing, and writing down all of the thoughts that ran circles in his head. By today's standards he might have been considered a geek, perhaps even a bit of a freak, but the artist didn't mind. He was talented, and most of his paintings- the ones he revealed to the world- were flawless and exquisitely beautiful. He was also possessed of an unquenchable thirst for knowledge that helped him, for the most part, ignore the loneliness of a life relatively devoid of human contact. There were certain aspects of his life that he could not share with others, such as the dark experiments from which he had been interrupted.

Leonardo bolted the cellar door tightly and hurried up the steps to the main floor of his workshop. Not only were there corpses in that dark cellar, it was also where he kept his failed experiments, and any paintings that did not live up to his impossibly high standards of beauty and perfection. He kept them all locked away for no one to see, not even the only person who he considered to be his friend- the very person who he hoped was waiting for him on the other side of his front door.

"Good evening, Leonardo. May I come in?"

"Ezio!" A wave of happiness washed over the artist at the sight of the familiar face at his doorstep. Whenever his friend stopped by, the painter found it impossible to remain in a foul mood, and difficult to control his enthusiasm, "Of course, of course! Do you even have to ask?" Leonardo beamed, ushering the assassin out of the murky shadows and into the warm glow of his workshop, "What brings you here? Not that you need a reason to stop by. How are you? I hope that you are well."

Ezio removed his hood out of respect and produced a small, genuine smile, "I'm tired, my friend," he admitted quietly. His voice was low and gravelly, and he scratched at the short goatee that he had allowed to grow on his chin. He appeared not to have slept for days, "If you would allow me to stay, just for a few minutes, to rest up-"

"By all means, sit down," Leonardo placed a small, silk cushion on a chair and offered it to the weary assassin. Before Ezio could even place his bottom on the chair, Leonardo hurried off into his tiny kitchen, more of an alcove than a separate room, and started up a fire, "I shall make preparations for you to stay the night," he called out.

"No Leonardo. That's quite alright-" Ezio began to protest.

"And don't even think about refusing my offer. I insist!" The inventor shouted as he placed a large, cast-iron pot above the fire. In a flurry of movement, he made his way back into the main room, "Allow me to hang your attire."

"Well, if you insist..." Ezio chuckled. He knew better than to turn the persistent painter down at that point. The assassin's seemingly never-ending quest to rid Rome of the Borgia's tainted presence was taking its toll on him, and indeed he was exhausted, so he began unbuckling and removing his heavy, metal chest guard, pauldrons, greaves, and hidden blades.

There were many layers to remove, and while Ezio did so, Leonardo rushed back down into his cellar- careful to avoid the concealed corpse and the partially coagulated blood all over the floor- and grabbed two large buckets of water from his storage room. In no time at all, he was back up the stairs, just in time to gather all of Ezio's armor. He set the buckets of water on the ground, and huffing and puffing, he moved the assassin's heavy equipment across the room and placed it all atop a small desk.

"Your robe as well," Leonardo stated, catching his breath, "I'm heating up some water for you to wash up."

"You are too good to me, my friend. You needn't go through all of this trouble."

"Trouble? What trouble?" The inventor smiled cheerily as Ezio peeled off his white robe and handed it over. After hanging the robe on a hook near the armor, Leonardo carried the large buckets of water into the kitchen and emptied them into the cast-iron pot. At least four more buckets were needed to adequately fill his washtub, which meant a couple more trips into the cellar.

When he exited the kitchen to head down there once more, he bumped into Ezio, who stood wearing nothing but a pair of black leggings. The empty buckets dropped to the floor as the artist collided into the assassin's broad, solid chest.

"My apologies, Leonardo," Ezio bowed to scoop up the buckets and held them effortlessly in his powerful arms, "Let me help you. It isn't right for me to sit back while you run around trying to make me comfortable."

Leonardo did his level best to keep his eyes from lingering on Ezio's torso, made more difficult by the play of flickering light and shadow across the man's chiseled abdomen that the workshop's candles provided. Although painted by the occasional cut and bruise, Ezio's smooth, olive skin was a stark contrast to the ghostly pallor of the cold corpse Leonardo had been attending to earlier.

He quickly snatched the buckets out of the assassin's arms, "Compared to all that you have done for me, this is nothing. Now have a seat, Ezio."

No sooner did he turn to head back down to his cellar, that the buckets were snatched back out of Leonardo's hands.

"_Ezio..._" Leonardo muttered, his hands on his hips.

"Compared to all that _I've _done for_ you_? Really, Leonardo?" Ezio gave him a crooked smile, his dark eyes were squinted and reflected the candlelight admirably.

"You saved me from that Borgia guard back in Firenze," the painter grunted as he tried to pull the buckets out of Ezio's arms, "and don't tell me you've forgotten about our little carriage ride to Venezia. I would have died if it wasn't for you!"

"Leonardo, your life was in danger _because_ of me...in _both _of those instances," Being much stronger than the feisty inventor, Ezio could have easily kept Leonardo from reclaiming the wooden buckets, but he held back and allowed their little game of tug-of-war to continue simply because he found it amusing, "You translated the Codex pages and constructed the flying machine to aid me."

"Yes, but..." Leonardo was losing steam, and could not keep resisting Ezio's steady, relentless tugging, "But...all of those war machines...I designed...for Cesare...think of all the destruction they could have caused...and _you_ stopped them!"

"Only because you informed me of their location. And the hidden blades...who was it that repaired the one and created the other from scratch? _T__wice_! Do you have any idea how many times those blades have save my life? If anyone is in the other's debt, it is me, Leonardo. Now let me help you. This is ridiculous!" With a mighty pull, Ezio wrestled the buckets away from Leonardo and started to walk down the stairs to the cellar.

Leonardo's heart skipped a beat at the thought of Ezio discovering the mutilated corpse and laying eyes upon the multitude of failed experiments and his hidden paintings whose mistakes could not be repaired. He was supposed to be a genius and a master painter. He could not allow his friend to see any flaws. He just couldn't.

"No! You will stay where you are, Ezio!" the exasperated artist shouted, "This is _my_ living space, therefore you will follow _my_ rules!" Leonardo surprised himself with the forcefulness of his tone.

Ezio cocked an eyebrow, his mouth slightly agape. He was even _more_ surprised, and a bit taken aback, at the sudden outburst of his usually mild-mannered and jovial friend, "You're right, Leonardo. It's not my place to intrude."

"No. I'm sorry, Ezio. I should not have yelled," the flustered artist placed a hand on his forehead and rubbed his brow, "Now please, just have a seat. I'll be back shortly," He trudged sullenly down the steps and vanished into the cellar.

Once all of the water had been gathered, sufficiently heated, and transferred into the tub, Leonardo ushered Ezio into his tiny bathroom.

"There is freshly made soap in a basket next to the tub, and a robe next to the door. Take your time, Ezio," Leonardo stated quickly. Still embarrassed by his outburst, he turned to hurry out of the room.

"Grazie amico," Ezio called out as Leonardo closed the door and made his way back into the kitchen.

* * *

With Ezio still in the tub, and an impromptu meal of bread and piping hot tea ready and waiting for him, Leonardo found himself with nothing left to do. Although Ezio had assured him that he did not take offense, Leonardo still felt badly and began thinking of ways to make it up to him. Something about the assassin's robe caught his attention, and for a moment, he contemplated handwashing it, since its white surface was marred with splotches of dirt, dried mud, and flecks of old blood. He removed it from the hook gently, as though it were made of expensive, delicate porcelain. As he held it in his hands, the craziest idea popped into his head.

After a moment's hesitation, he carefully slipped it on and pushed his arms through the sleeves.

The first thing Leonardo became aware of was his nostrils being filled with a rush of Ezio's scent: thick, musky, and warm. He could practically _feel_ the testosterone radiating off the cloth and enveloping him. Although the smell was undoubtedly tinged with sweat, it was far from unpleasant. Leonardo closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his head practically spinning from the endorphin-fueled bliss that the scent provided him. After tying the red sash around his waste, he ran his hands along the intricate patterns woven into the smooth material before moving them up to feel the ridges of the frilled collar. Lastly, he reached behind him and pulled the hood over his head.

In the corner of the room stood a floor-length mirror and he practically flew over to it to inspect his reflection. The robe sagged a bit at the shoulders, but to his surprise, he didn't look nearly as ridiculous as he would have imagined. That wasn't to say he pulled the look off the way Ezio did. Rightly so, Leonardo imagined, since no other man could pull it off with such effortless authority and style.

Leonardo's enthusiasm would not be dampened, however. He snatched up Ezio's dagger from amidst the pile of armor and weapons and began rushing around the room, swinging the blade in elaborate arcs. One moment he was leaping across rooftops, and the next, he was destroying wave upon wave of imaginary papal guards. He was sure he must have looked like an idiot parading about like he was, but he never felt such joy- never felt so alive- as he did at that moment. What made it even better was that in his own special way, no matter how fleeting, insignificant, or pathetic it may have seemed, Leonardo was connecting with his dearest friend on a level he never thought possible. By putting on the robes, he was one step closer to getting inside Ezio's head. He clamored onto a workbench and sprung into the air. He could almost feel the rush of wind, as though he were soaring from the top of a tower.

"Ahem..."

The simple, abrupt sound of a throat being cleared was enough to strike Leonardo, still in mid-leap, with the paralyzing force of a bolt of lightning. He crumpled to the floor and rolled helplessly, sending canvases, models, and various articles of clutter crashing down around him. In a flash, he jumped to his feet and shut his eyes tightly as his face flushed an impossibly deep shade of scarlet. He had his back to Ezio, and he dared not turn around.

"I...forgive me," Leonardo sputtered, fingers fumbling to untie the sash, "...for such blatant disrespect..." He turned around slowly, but could not bring himself to look at the other man, so great was his embarrassment. As he looked down at the floor, he noticed with the corner of his eye, an enormous black stain dripping down the length of the robe's right arm, from shoulder to wrist. Apparently one of the paintings he had collided with was still wet. It was oil paint, and the stain would never come out.

This couldn't be happening. He could only imagine the look on Ezio's face, who was sure to be pissed. He needed to remove the hood- to remove the robe entirely- but the hood was covering his eyes and providing him with a barrier, no matter how thin, from Ezio's wrath. He had defiled the sacred, ceremonial robe of an assassin, whose day job consisted of slitting throats and gouging eyeballs- an assassin who was approaching him now with steady and unrushed footsteps.

With his eyes shut tightly once more, Leonardo proceeded to curse himself endlessly in his head. If only he hadn't been so bold as to try on the garment. If only he could melt into the floor and disappear.

Ezio was right in front of him now. It would all be over soon. He would either drop dead from the embarrassment or die by the assassin's hands.

One of those hands came to rest on his shoulder, and Leonardo held his breath as the other hand reached out, grabbed the hood, and pulled it away from his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: To everyone who reviewed, Thank you so much. They are a wonderful source of inspiration and are greatly appreciated._

* * *

Ezio sighed deeply as he sank into Leonardo's bathtub. The water was the perfect temperature as it flowed across his aching muscles. Although he had to bend his knees a bit due to the tub's small size, it was far from uncomfortable, and as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, he was sure he could fall asleep right then and there. However, he resisted the temptation of his drooping eyelids and scooted himself into a more seated position.

He couldn't rightfully spend all night lounging, since he was in desperate need of a good scrub down, and knowing Leonardo, the worried inventor would probably think he had drowned in the tub or something if he took too long.

Ezio chuckled at the thought and untied his ponytail. Remarkably thick and dark, his straight hair fell about his shoulders. He submerged his head and gave his hair a quick rinse before resurfacing and slicking it back and away from his face. He reached down to grab some soap out of the basket and wondered whether Leonardo had made the bars himself. The artist did have a sort of domestic flair about him.

Ezio scrubbed himself rather robustly, eager to rid his body of all dirt and grime. He winced slightly whenever he passed over a bruise, and the discomfort, along with his growing achiness made him press his lips into a tight, thin line. As much as he tried to deny it to himself, he was getting older. Although physically he appeared to be quite a bit younger than his current age of forty-two, the constant abuse that he subjected his body to- especially his shoulders, back, and legs- would one day catch up to him. To make matters worse, his elderly nemesis-Rodrigo Borgia- had been eclipsed by his more ruthless son Cesare, who himself was only in his mid-twenties. Although Ezio could put most younger men to shame in all matters of strength and agility, he could not help but wonder how long he would be able to continue his fight against the Borgia. He may have been fit and strong, but he was still human, still just one person. The vast scope of his duties, upon taking up the cause of the Assassins, often left him feeling so very small- so very isolated and alone, although he would never divulge those feeling to anyone.

One day, he knew, his body would fail him and he would pass on from this world. As he climbed out of the tub, Ezio hoped that he would spend his final moments drifting off into an endless sleep after many more quality years of life, rather than dying alone and broken amidst the refuse and chaos of battle. Such grim thoughts weighed heavily on him, but he pushed them to the deepest regions of his mind, exited the tub, and proceeded to dry himself off.

For the moment at least, he could rest assured that he was in a place of refuge- a tiny workshop where he could drop his guard without worry, and allow himself to relax.

"Leonardo, you are far too good to me," He repeated the words he had stated earlier. Greed, corruption, ruthlessness, selfishness- these were the things that Ezio had grown to expect from others. As such, he often wondered why Leonardo had gone so above and beyond to help him- eagerly, unconditionally, and without any sort of compensation- throughout the years.

And always with a smile on his face.

Ezio bowed his head. What had _he_ done for the selfless inventor in return?

Nothing...besides thoroughly soiling his bathtub.

Ezio cringed at the filthy water he had left behind and pictured Leonardo emptying and fastidiously scrubbing the tub for hours after he was gone. The assassin reached for Leonardo's supplied bathrobe- satiny soft, nearly ankle-length, and an attractive midnight blue. He tied the sash tightly around his waste and headed out of the bathroom to join his friend- A friend who was practically frolicking around the workshop wearing his white hooded robe. The sight was so unexpected that Ezio didn't know what to make of it. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and watched the spectacle with one eyebrow raised.

When the assassin decided to make his presence known, Leonardo was so startled that he tumbled across the floor. He approached the clearly flustered and apologetic artist and lifted the hood from his face.

"What is the meaning of this, Leonardo?" He questioned calmly, and tried his best to hide his amusement. He couldn't quite keep the smile from showing through in his eyes, especially upon seeing the pathetic pout on the inventor's face.

"I...uh...just...Oh Dio...I wanted to see what it was like...what it felt like..." Leonardo blurted out.

"What it felt like?"

"Damn me and my curiosity. I'm so sorry, Ezio. I ruined it."

The assassin looked at the right sleeve of his robe, the ebony oil paint already seeping into the fabric like tar, "Well...I could always have the whole thing dyed black, you know."

Leonardo appeared not to have heard him, because he quickly removed the robe and once more erupted into a flurry of activity.

"I have prepared a small meal over there by the table- some bread and tea. Nothing special, but please help yourself while I find something to remove the stain. Excuse me for a moment."

Ezio quietly sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of the tea, realizing that it was pointless to try and stop the frantic artist. He did, however, feel a bit guilty about startling Leonardo in the first place. Holding the cup to his lips, he caught a whiff of the tea's strange, strong, and unexpected cheese-like aroma, and set the cup back down on the table to inspect it closely. The liquid inside was a light golden brown instead of black.

"Do you like it?" Leonardo appeared once more with the robe and a moist rag in his hands, and sat next to the assassin.

"I haven't tried it yet. It looks strange, and smells even stranger."

"It's valerian. It promotes relaxation."

Ezio took a sip and watched Leonardo scrub at the stain so furiously that it seemed he would create a hole in the fabric, "Perhaps _you_ should have a cup then, my friend."

"Yes, well," Leonardo sighed. He was quickly realizing the futility of his efforts. He had managed to turn the enormous black stain into an enormous dark gray stain, "So...how goes your progress?" He asked quietly, "It's been a week since I've seen you last. Are you any closer to recovering the Apple?"

"I have no leads," Ezio mumbled. He had taken an enormous bite of the bread, and crumbs flew from his full mouth as he struggled to form a cohesive sentence, "All I know is that it must be in Rodrigo's hands, because Cesare would undoubtedly be using it by now."

"Odd that he would so willingly give it to his father after obtaining it. He must not have been aware of the power...the knowledge that it holds. If only I could have studied it more when it was in our possession," the inventor lamented.

Ezio chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "We will have it again soon enough."

Leonardo shifted in his chair as he observed the contrast between the assassin's determined voice, and his body language. Ezio was slouched forward, with both elbows on the table, and he rubbed his brow with his thumb and index finger. The man looked incredibly worn out.

"I worry about you, Ezio."

The assassin looked down at his tea, and swirled the cup slowly. Had Machiavelli, La Volpe, or Bartolomeo said those words, they would have sounded strange to him. In fact, Ezio would have probably taken it as an insult coming from those three. But coming from Leonardo, the concern seemed genuine, and somehow appropriate.

"If only you had some sort of help," the artist continued, "How can one man be expected to stand against an army?"

"I already have help." Ezio placed his hand firmly on Leonardo's shoulder.

Leonardo bowed his head and smiled, "You flatter me, Ezio. While you run off to save all of Rome, I spend my time squatting in this dark workshop. If only I could do more..."

"You've done more than enough, amico. More than you should have, and more than you know."

* * *

After finishing their light supper, Ezio offered to help Leonardo clear the table and clean the dishes, but the inventor promptly refused to let him perform such a menial task. Instead, he led the weary assassin beyond the main chamber of his workshop and into a diminutive back room, devoid of everything except a modest yet tidy bed.

"Good night, my friend. May your sleep be restful and your dreams, sweet." The gracious artist gave Ezio a small bow before turning to leave the room. Before he could clear the edge of the door frame, he was stopped in his tracks by the assassin's deep voice.

"Now wait just a minute, Leonardo...where exactly are _you _going to sleep?" Ezio was well aware of the humble dimensions of Leonardo's workshop, and he seriously doubted that the inventor was even in possession of another bed.

"I...um..." Leonardo scratched the back of his head and hesitated a bit too long for Ezio's liking.

"Surely you don't plan to sleep on the _floor_." Ezio's arms were folded in front of his chest and he stared at his friend with a piercing gaze.

"Well..."

"I cannot allow that, Leonardo. This is your bed, and I will not take it from you," The assassin took the inventor by the arm and brought him back to the foot of the bed, "_I_ will sleep on the floor."

"You are my guest, Ezio," Leonardo tried to reason, "There would be no greater shame than for me to sleep in the bed and leave you with the discomfort of the cold, hard floor."

"I have spent many nights under far worse circumstances."

"That's not the point," The artist raised both of his hands before slapping them against his thighs in frustration, "Why must you be so stubborn, Ezio?"

The assassin did not respond to the question, and the duo simply stared at one another in silence for nearly a minute.

"So this is how it's going to be then?" Leonardo huffed, "If one of us doesn't take the bed, then _neither_ of us will? We're just going to stand here like a pair of idiots all night? What good will that do for either of us? Take the bed, Ezio. _Please_."

To Leonardo's relief, Ezio finally and wordlessly gave in- which was good because Leonardo's legs had grown tired from their little stand off. The assassin peeled off the bath robe and lowered himself onto the bed, Truthfully, it warmed the painter's heart to know that Ezio had been willing to sacrifice a much needed night of comfortable sleep in order for him to have one. Although Leonardo wasn't looking forward to the prospect of laying down on the hard floor, he knew he needed to make due for the sake of his house guest. He turned once more to leave the room, but again he was halted by Ezio's voice.

"There is another option..." the assassin stated quietly. His words seemed to hang thickly in the air.

"...And what's that?" Leonardo turned on his heels and stared across the dimly lit room. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and he bit his lower lip when he realized what the assassin was implying. Sure enough, Ezio shifted himself to the edge of the bed and patted the small, empty space next to him with his hand.

"We can _share_ the bed, you know. There is no shame in doing so."

An enormous lump formed in Leonardo's throat.

"W-w-_what_?" The inventor's tongue fumbled to form the simple question from within his now arid mouth. Thankfully, the room was dark enough to hide the blush that instantly painted his face red, "We can..._share_?"

"If you don't mind, that is," Ezio continued, his voice the very definition of innocent, oblivious, naiveté, "I would hope that our friendship is strong enough for you to overcome any reservations, or ill feelings, you might have with sleeping next to another man."

The artist's brow furrowed and his jaw became slack. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

_Ill feelings_? _Ezio...If only you knew...if only I could tell you..._

Leonardo had always lived a life of the mind, and at all times, carefully guarded his heart. As an adolescent, the hormonal tug and pull had been weak on him, and he had never felt anything more than fleeting whims of romantic desire. He ended up falling in love with his work. Knowledge and artistic expression were his mistresses. Indeed, real women provided him with so little distraction, that Leonardo had been able to devote himself- mind, body, and spirit- to his studies. By his own choice, the humble genius had sealed himself away in his own little world.

He hadn't minded his solitude in the slightest until one day, by chance, Ezio had stumbled into Leonardo's little bubble. Still young, conflicted, and driven by vengeance and rage, Ezio provided Leonardo with an outlet for his creativity and ingenuity. The inventor had practically salivated all over those Codex pages whenever Ezio provided him with one. By aiding the assassin in his quest to purge Italy of the Templar dominion, Leonardo had begun to realize his desire to make a difference in the world. In Ezio's presence, the inventor suddenly found purpose.

And during the lengthy spans of Ezio's absence, Leonardo suddenly realized just how lonely his life could be.

Leonardo had grown very fond of Ezio, and over the years, that fondness had evolved into a genuine romantic attraction. However, Leonardo was afraid to tell Ezio about his feelings for him, out of fear the assassin would be the one to harbor ill feelings, perhaps even _disgust,_ towards him.

But Ezio's offer to share the bed revealed that he was more open-minded and accepting than the inventor was giving him credit for, and it filled Leonardo's heart almost to bursting.

Ezio mistook Leonardo's open-mouthed, shocked silence for something else entirely, and it was the assassin's turn to become slightly embarrassed.

"Um, I..." he cleared his throat and then mumbled quickly, "I didn't mean to offend. Forget I mentioned it, Leonardo."

"No, no..." The artist removed his red beret and slowly ran a hand through his hair, "I do not mind at all, Ezio. _Really. _In fact, I think I shall take you up on your kind offer." The artist approached the bed slowly and began to remove his tunic, but suddenly hesitated. With Ezio shirtless and under the covers, Leonardo figured that he should probably sleep on _top_ of the covers, if only to keep things from getting awkward- and to keep him from getting even more flustered. Since the artist tended to get cold at night he decided to keep his tunic on.

Ezio observed him quizzically before lifting the bed covers and motioning for the inventor to join him beneath them.

"I don't bite, Leonardo," he grinned, "...I merely stab."

Leonardo chuckled nervously and tried to appear as calm, collected, and nonchalant as possible as he lay down next to Ezio. His face still painfully red, the artist turned on his side with his back to the assassin. His bed was small, and Leonardo was barely able to suppress a shiver as he felt his back brush against Ezio's shoulder.

"I apologize for the diminutive size of this bed, Ezio. Fortunately, I do not snore. At least I don't believe I do, and I do not move very much in my sleep."

"Well, I can't say the same about either of those things," Ezio admitted quietly, "I apologize in advance if I end up on top of you."

Leonardo gulped audibly.

* * *

Ezio lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling for what must have been hours. Despite his exhaustion, he was unable to find sleep. He let out a frustrated sigh and covered his eyes with one of his forearms. It was still pitch black outside, and a dense blanket of clouds ensured that not even a glint of moonlight filtered through the window behind him. In that moment, he truly felt that he was the only person awake in all of Rome.

He rolled onto his side and faced Leonardo. It was so dark that he could barely discern the outline of the artist's shoulder and back, despite the close proximity between them. The weary assassin stared at Leonardo's motionless form. He couldn't help but feel that, throughout all of the years they had known each other, that he had been taking advantage of the man's brilliance. Ezio sincerely hoped the inventor didn't feel that he was simply being used. Leonardo was so much more than a mere translator of Codex pages, so much more than a constructor of weapons and gadgets.

Ezio shut his eyes tightly and tried his best to focus his troubled thoughts. He could feel a mounting pressure in his eyes, and when he opened them again, Leonardo had begun to glow. Ezio took comfort in the light as it radiated outward like a tiny blue sun.

_Blue...Ally..._

Ezio's mind instantly formed the connection between the color of the light and the status of the sleeping form enveloped within it. The light filled his vision until it was the only thing that he could see, blinding him to everything else. Eventually his eyes began to sting, and he was forced to blink, which rendered everything dark once more.

"Grazie amico," he mumbled quietly before finally drifting off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: To everyone who put this story on their alerts- I am so sorry for the horribly long delay! School is really kicking my butt right now. :/ Anyway, a big thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited. Love you guys. Here's a longer chapter for you. Enjoy.**

* * *

Leonardo unbolted the door to his cellar, dreading the prospect of what he would find on the other side. He had completely forgotten about the dissected corpse, and aside from the sheet he had tossed over it last night, he had made no other efforts to wrap the body or slow the onset of decay.

He had been far too preoccupied with his house guest who, to the artist's great disappointment, had left his workshop silently sometime during the early morning while he was still asleep.

As he had feared, the cellar was an absolute nightmare. The stench was practically palpable, and it seemed to slap the artist in the face as he descended the staircase. Most of the blood had soaked into the cracks in the stone floor, but black clotted chunks could still be found amidst a film of thick, sticky plasma. To make matters worse, the corpse had fallen off the table at some point, causing a mess of entrails and abdominal fat to spill out of the exposed torso. He didn't even bother to stare at the horror that lay at his feet and ended up unceremoniously shoving the rotting corpse back into the burlap sack with a shovel.

As he struggled to heft the sack back up the stairs, Leonardo took a look at a lonely painting that leaned against the furthest, darkest corner of the cellar. Abandoned as a failure weeks ago, Leonardo had turned the painting so that only the back of the canvas was visible. For a moment, he considered putting it in the sack with the corpse to finally rid himself of the horrible thing, but decided against opening the sack again and allowing even more of the acrid odor to assault his nostrils. He sighed heavily. Perhaps he could fix the painting somehow...assuming he could motivate himself to ever look at it again. After dragging the sack out of the workshop and into his small private garden, he ended up persuading a group of mercenaries with a respectable amount of gold coins to get rid of the corpse.

After scrubbing his cellar down, Leonardo found himself in the mood to spruce up the rest of his workshop. He wrapped an apron around his waste, grabbed a duster, and went to work- humming all the while as he darted around the room. By mid-morning, his cluttered workspace had been transformed from random chaos to carefully ordered, categorized, and contained chaos. He tackled his bathroom after that, emptying the tub of the water Ezio had used to bathe himself. Leonardo noted, not without a bit of amusement, that Ezio had left his tub in such a terrible condition that it took him longer to clean the bathroom than it did to clean the blood-stained cellar.

With an immense sense of accomplishment, Leonardo eventually left his shop and headed out across the busy streets of the Centro district. He gripped a large travel bag tightly with both hands, the strap of which was slung over his shoulder. After spending so much time in his dark workshop, he was in the mood for a bit of drawing out in the sunshine. As he passed by an art merchant's stall, he couldn't help but take a peek at the paintings of his fellow artists. He had made a name for himself back in Florence as an accomplished painter, but was not yet widely known in Rome.

"Ah, good morning signore," the merchant addressed him heartily, "Care to make a purchase? I have several pieces from a very talented up and coming young artist."

Leonardo squinted at a particular painting that caught his eye. It depicted a desolate, hellish landscape with an armor-clad archangel standing tall and prominently in the center. The angel's intimidating wings trailed behind his back, and he held a golden sword high above his head, preparing to swing it down onto the grotesque demon whose neck he had trampled with his foot. Behind the angel, other demons cowered in fear and awe as a foreboding castle burned in the distance. In almost the exact center of the composition was a shield that the angel held in his left hand. The shield was white with a large red cross adorning the center.

"Who painted this?" Leonardo whispered in awe. Judging by the precision, the masterful technique, and the delicacy of the angel's features, he had a good idea who the artist was.

"Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino. His rendition of St. Michael is exquisite, is it not?" The merchant tapped at the painting's elegant frame with his index finger.

"It _is_..." Leonardo murmured. Raphael was indeed an extraordinary painter whose talent rivaled that of his own. Not only that, but the young man was also incredibly prolific and focused. Despite only just starting out, Raphael had already garnered many commissions with at least twenty significant and celebrated paintings to his name- which was more than Leonardo could claim.

"It can be yours for the very low price of-"

"No, grazie. I was only looking." Leonardo excused himself and doubled his pace down the street towards his destination- the nearby stables. The pleasant weather was a welcome change from the stuffiness of his workshop, and was perfect for a few hours worth of drawing. He sat down on a bench next to a sheltered stall and produced a sketchbook and a bottle of ink from the depths of his travel bag. For a few minutes, the artist merely observed the three resident horses as they ate calmly from their feed troughs and meandered slowly throughout the enclosed stable. Leonardo wanted to capture the essence of the horses on paper, and waited patiently for inspiration to strike.

Two of the animals were nearly identical. Both were female, light gray, and had faint dapple spots on their hindquarters. They stood next to one another, and they each began to groom the other's silvery mane with their teeth. The third horse, a young strong stallion, was possessed of a rich, satiny black coat that seemed to gleam like an obsidian stone whenever he trotted into the sunlight. His tail was held high, and trailed behind him like a feathery banner, so long that it nearly touched the ground.

Captivated by the stallion's beauty, Leonardo quickly dipped his quill in ink and began sketching quickly as the black horse pawed the ground with one hoof. The play of light and shadow on the animal's dark body was visually exciting, and the artist payed special attention to the highlights that danced along the arched neck and the slope of its back before moving on to depict the sense of movement in the flowing tail as it swished gently in the breeze.

Leonardo smiled as the drawing materialized on the paper. It was far from complete, and yet it was already turning out to be one of his best equine studies. The minutes flew by as the artist's eyes darted back and forth from subject to paper. Each stroke and every line was drawn with meaning. Ink was an unforgiving medium. Unlike oil paint, mistakes could not be so simply blended or covered. Once placed on the page, there was no taking it back, but the challenge only served to excite Leonardo more.

Seeing Raphael's painting had triggered an intense competitive feeling in Leonardo, and alerted him to the relative scarcity of his own work. He had plenty of drawings in his workshop, but most were unfinished sketches. Even his paintings were mostly unfinished- many of which he wasn't proud of- and Leonardo knew that he needed to devote more time to his artistic works if he wanted to keep up with the likes of Raphael.

He suddenly stopped to observe his drawing. The taught muscles and tendons of the horse's powerful legs were beautifully detailed, the geometric edges of the hooves were masterfully handled, and the animal's delicate dished face and soulful eyes were captured with astonishing precision. The proportions were correct, the pose aesthetically pleasing, and overall, the drawing fit nicely on the page. Leonardo wiped his brow, very pleased yet not completely satisfied with his work. He felt as though he had run a marathon- so great was the amount of focus and effort he had poured onto that single piece of paper.

"That's very nice."

Occasional passersby would often comment on the artist's skill whenever he chose to work outdoors. Assuming he wasn't so engrossed in the drawing to miss their awed commentary, Leonardo usually shrugged off such complements with a quick, modest 'thank you.'

For Leonardo, the act of creating something that was beautiful or functional- both if he could help it- was its own reward, and more important than the praise associated with said creation. There was, however, one growing exception to that train of thought, and the angle from which the complement came from- the rooftop above and behind him- triggered both the desire for the flattery to continue, and a blush to form on his face. Coming from _him_, the praise was worth it. So damn worth it.

"You think so?" Leonardo asked quietly as he turned around, squinting as he looked upon the crouched figure perched atop the stable's roof, "You really like it?"

"Of course," Ezio stated as he dropped down to stand next to him, "It's like you took the horse and shrunk it...and flattened it...and placed it on the paper." Ezio tried his best to describe the near photographic accuracy of the drawing, "It is perfect. I don't know how you do it, my friend."

"It is far from perfect." Leonardo mumbled. The artist's critical nature was kicking in, and the more he stared at his drawing, he suddenly began to see tiny little mistakes here and there.

"What are you talking about? It looks _real_." Ezio stated as he stared at Leonardo in disbelief.

"No..." Leonardo's voice seemed far away and his gaze shifted to the black horse that was now cantering around the stable with such fluid grace that it seemed to be floating over the dusty earth, "That," he pointed at the animal for emphasis, "_That_ is real. Have you ever seen a more magnificent creature? Don't get me wrong, Ezio. I know that I have a gift, but I will never be able to fully capture such power, such movement, such raw beauty. These things are intangible...forever out of my reach and incapable of being placed onto any piece of parchment or canvas... but that will not stop me from trying, no matter how hopeless my efforts may be." Leonardo removed his hat and looked once more at his drawing, "For now I must be content with creating illusions..." he covered the drawing with his hand, "because that's all that this really is...but listen to me, flying off into some mad rant."

"You are very passionate, Leonardo, and far too hard on yourself."

"You can have it, if you'd like..." the artist murmured quietly after a moment of silence.

"Really?" Ezio's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, of course."

"But you put so much hard work into it. To simply give it away like that-"

"It is nothing, Ezio. Truly. You've seen my workshop. It's littered with drawings. Overflowing with them. You would be doing me a favor by taking it."

There was another minute of silence as Leonardo continued to watch the horses. One of the gray mares was taken by a middle-aged gentleman and ridden into the increasingly crowded streets.

"Machiavelli has sent me to fetch you." This time it was Ezio who broke the silence."He would like to speak with you."

"What about?" Leonardo asked, more than a bit surprised.

"Something about a commission. He wouldn't tell me anything more, only that you should meet him outside the Palazzo Senatorio in about three hours."

"Oh," Leonardo mulled over the prospect of working on a commissioned painting and wondered with growing excitement and anticipation over who it was that wished to make use of his talents. It was then that he noticed the assassin was still standing next to him, and Leonardo could detect that Ezio's breathing was slightly more labored than usual. The artist turned to face the assassin, his eyes quickly scanning his friend from head to toe. With laser-like accuracy, Leonardo pin-pointed new dirt stains on the lower half of Ezio's robes, several nicks and scrapes on the man's knuckles, and scant beads of sweat on his forehead despite the shadows cast by his hood. "Someone's already had a busy morning."

"Yes, well..." Ezio confessed and took a seat on the bench next to Leonardo who quickly reached into his travel bag and pulled out a flask of water. Ezio graciously took a swig of the offered beverage. "Just keeping the pressure on Cesare..."

"I see..." Leonardo mumbled. He smoothed a stray lock of hair behind his ear with his right hand while his left hand tightened its grip on his feather quill-pen.

Ezio frowned, noticing the change in Leonardo's mood. The assassin scooted closer and hunched forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. "Leonardo...I've been thinking about what you said last night..."

"Hm?" Leonardo's eyes rested on Ezio's for several moments, and he smoothed yet another lock of his hair behind his ear.

"Something along the lines of how I shouldn't be doing all of this on my own. I appreciate your concern. I really do," the assassin paused to clear his throat, "You know, there are many amongst the people of Roma who are willing to stand against Borgia oppression. I've seen it firsthand."

Leonardo nodded his head. "Yes, I have seen several skirmishes between the guards and fed up citizens- an increasingly common sight, I might add."

"Right. I've been discussing this with Machiavelli. He doesn't like the idea, to say the least, but..." Ezio paused for a moment, his expression unreadable, "I've decided to start recruiting some of them to our cause. Expand our numbers, you see."

"That's wonderful!" Leonardo beamed.

"Well, we'll see how it works out...So what have you been up to this morning? Besides making masterpieces." Ezio said with a grin.

"Oh, nothing. I just, er... tidied up the workshop."

"Sorry about your bath tub," Ezio added quickly.

Leonardo chuckled as the assassin took to observing the horse drawing once more.

"Would you like to give it a try, perhaps?" There was a twinkle in the artist's eyes, and he twiddled his thumbs expectantly.

"What do you mean?" Ezio asked, shrinking back a bit when Leonardo tore a piece of parchment from the sketch book, set it atop the book, and placed it all on Ezio's lap. Leonardo then offered him the quill and bottle of ink, "Oh, _no_ Leonardo, I can't draw to save my life!"

"Please? Just this once. Consider this payback for my bathtub...besides, it would be fascinating to see you create a piece of art."

"Yes, fascinating for _you._" Ezio grumbled, but took the quill and ink, much to Leonardo's delight.

"Excellent! All right then," The artist grabbed Ezio's arm and began rolling up the man's sleeve, "Wouldn't want you to get your robe any more messy than I already did last night."

With quill in hand and daunting blank paper in front of him, Ezio hesitated. "So... what should I do now?"

"Why, start drawing of course," the inventor rested his chin in his hand and continued to stare expectantly at the assassin.

"Yes, but what should I draw?"

"Anything. Whatever you want. A blank page holds limitless possibilities and potential. Isn't that wonderful?" Leonardo flourished his hands excidedly for emphasis.

"Uh, yes...wonderful," Leonardo's words provided little comfort to the assassin, who almost bore a hole into the paper with the intensity of his stare. Ezio was suddenly filled with an unexpected sense of apprehension and uncertainty. His hand even began to shake a little, and he quickly traced imaginary circles across the page to disguise that fact. The artist, meanwhile, was utterly intrigued by Ezio's lack of confidence and he could not keep his eyes from opening widely.

"You could draw something that interests you...or something that is important to you," Leonardo offered slowly, eager to both encourage the assassin and learn a bit more about him. He could practically see the gears in Ezio's head turning.

"All right..." Ezio said slowly as he finally dipped the quill into the ink and hovered it tentatively over the paper. The assassin had faced scores of heavily armed troops single handedly, flown a thousand feet above the ground in a bat-like flying machine, and had a fist fight/curb stomp _brawl_ with the _Pope_, and yet the prospect of doodling in front of his best friend was actually making him nervous. He couldn't believe it. The fact that his best friend happened to be a master artist wasn't helping.

A drop of ink fell from the feather quill, and with his lightning reflexes, Ezio was able to protect the pristine parchment by blocking the offending ink drop with the back of his other hand. The assassin puffed his cheeks and forcefully exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Relax, Ezio!" Leonardo was trying his best to keep from laughing at his friend, "Just take it easy." The artist took Ezio's hand in his own and began guiding it along the paper, creating confident loops and flourishes with the bold, black ink. "See? Don't be afraid. You just need to loosen up. Don't grip the quill so tightly."

"I'm not _afraid_," Ezio rebuffed, a bit too quickly as he worried his bottom lip.

Leonardo smiled and although he stopped moving the assassin's hand, he kept his smaller palm wrapped around Ezio's hand for a few seconds before letting go, "All right, then. Prove it to me."

Ezio narrowed his eyes slightly, and a wide smirk formed on his full lips. Clearly Leonardo was challenging him, and the assassin never backed down from a challenge. He dipped the quill into the ink once more and began drawing a short, vertical line on the center of the paper. His stroke wasn't quick enough, however, and the ink began to pool messily.

"Merda," he hissed quietly enough under his breath that Leonardo barely heard him. He then started a new line that branched off the first one in an upward, diagonal direction. Leonardo leaned forward, eager to make out the subject of Ezio's drawing.

"No, don't look." Ezio stated and shifted on the bench so that his back was to his friend.

"_What_?" Leonardo practically shouted, "Whatever do you mean? I was hoping to guide you through this- to give you some advice!" He stood up and tried to get around to the front of Ezio.

"No, no. Just... just stay right there," Ezio held his free hand up and scribbled furiously on the paper while using his body as a shield to keep Leonardo's prying eyes away from his work. The assassin never blushed- his skin was far too tanned for that- but the tips of his ears did tend to flush slightly on the rare occasions when he felt embarrassed. To his annoyance, he could feel his ears currently growing hot beneath his hood.

"Oh come now, Ezio. Honestly!" The more Leonardo attempted to circle around Ezio, the more the assassin shifted and turned. No matter how hard the inventor tried, he could not out-flank Ezio, and the man's shoulders were far too broad for him to peek around. Finally, Leonardo gave up and allowed Ezio to continue uninterrupted. He wandered around the stable for a while, and took to petting the horses.

"Are you done, yet?"

"No."

Leonardo then pulled out several tiny, glass jars from his bag and took to catching insects in them in order to study them later in his workshop. He couldn't keep from shouting for joy when he managed to catch a butterfly.

"_Now_ are you finished?" He called out to Ezio, who was still hunched over, the quill pen flitting across the paper.

"Almost."

Leonardo huffed. Ezio was taking longer than _he_ had done to draw the horse. The inventor was losing patience. Ezio fascinated him, and his curiosity to find out what the assassin was drawing was becoming overwhelming. He had to see it. Now.

"Isn't it a glorious morning?" Leonardo asked demurely, feigning disinterest as he crept towards Ezio, "It was _so_ cloudy and rainy yesterday... What a welcome change, don't you think?"

Ezio merely grunted. His focus was almost entirely on his drawing.

"Everyone seems to be taking advantage of this glorious weather. Just look at how many people are out and about!" Leonardo inched closer. He could just make out the edge of the parchment. The assassin's body was so hunched over that there was a neat, little opening under his arm for the inventor to take advantage of. In one swift motion, he plucked the parchment from Ezio's lap.

"Give. That. _Back_!" Ezio whirled around and lunged for the drawing, growling in frustration as Leonardo darted just out of reach. The plucky inventor scampered across the stable and managed to sneek a peek at the drawing as Ezio surged over the bench and dashed after him in hot pursuit.

There appeared to be seven stick figures on the page- three of them stood on a horizontal line that represented the ground, while four more floated in the space above their oval heads. Leonardo couldn't make out the details because his eyes were welling up with tears as he giggled uncontrollably. With Ezio nearly upon him, he circled around to the back of the stable, which came to a dead end. The assassin grabbed him and pinned him rather forcefully against the side of the stable. His hand gripped Leonardo's collar tightly, and Ezio locked onto Leonardo's eyes with a deadly glare, his face a scant inch away from the artist's as they both panted heavily from their sudden exertion.

Without a word, Ezio let go of Leonardo and took a step back. He crossed his arms and with a frown strewn across his face, he exhaled forcefully from his nostrils- rather like an annoyed bull, Leonardo thought.

The artist took another quick peek at the drawing as he sheepishly handed it back. Two of the figures were wearing triangle-shaped dresses, and Leonardo had to bite the back of his hand to keep from laughing, "It's..._lovely_..." he stammered.

"Jerk," Ezio snarled, snatching back his drawing.

"I mean it!" Leonardo called out as Ezio began to walk away. "Wait, just _wait_, Ezio. I'm sorry, all right?" Once he caught up to the assassin, he noted that Ezio was carefully smoothing out the creases on the paper's edges. "I was being insensitive, Ezio. I apologize. I really do like it. It's quite enchanting."

"It looks like a three year old drew it, and you know it." Ezio huffed, but then grinned.

"Would you care to elaborate on your work?" Leonardo ventured, "I would very much like to know who these people are."

"You said to draw something that was important to me and well...these two are my mother and Claudia." He pointed to two of the three stick figures that were standing on the horizontal line, the ones with the triangle dresses. Leonardo noted that they had rather elegantly detailed hair on their heads and tiny smiles on their faces, "And these are my brothers and my father, and uncle Mario." Ezio explained as he moved his pointer finger across the four male figures above Claudia and Maria. Leonardo scratched his chin and nodded at the simplistic symbolism of Ezio's deceased family members floating angelically in the air.

"Oh...," Leonardo nodded again, pressing his lips into a thin line, "...and who is this?" he asked, indicating the male figure that stood on the ground next to Maria and Claudia.

"That's _you_. What? Can't you tell?" Ezio added with a wry smile.

Leonardo bit the inside of his cheek. He tried to hide the fact that he was so touched to be included in the drawing by squinting and staring intently at his little likeness. Sure enough, he was able to see the tiny beret on the figure's head- a head no less than twice as large as all of the others.

"It's because you are so full of ideas," Ezio added quickly, noticing the puzzled look on the inventor's face.

"Right..." Leonardo grinned, his tongue peeking out slightly from between his teeth. "Thank you, Ezio. Truly this was both enlightening and fascinating. We should do this again, soon."

"We should?"

"Yes, of course. Stop by my workshop at your earliest convenience. I'm serious. But I should be heading for the Palazzo now. It is quite a walk from here. How terribly disgraceful and embarrassing it would be for me to keep Machiavelli waiting." Leonardo began gathering his supplies and placed them into his shoulder bag.

"Walk? Why would you walk there?" The assassin gestured to the horses with a puzzled look as Leonardo scratched the back of his head and smiled.

"Oh no, Ezio. I never learned how to ride a horse."

"You're kidding. So you walk everywhere?" Ezio simply could not imagine traveling through Rome, a city much larger than Florence or Venice, without the time saving benefits of cutting across rooftops or riding on horseback, "Like you said, you wouldn't want to keep Machiavelli waiting," The assassin placed a saddle on the remaining gray horse and led the animal over to the inventor, "He's very busy with his political games...when he isn't shooting down my ideas, that is..." Ezio added with a hint of bitterness.

Leonardo took a step back as the horse loomed in front of him, uncertainty strewn across his features.

"Just do as I do," Ezio placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the saddle. He then quickly dismounted and prompted the nervous artist to give it a try.

Leonardo approached the horse tentatively, and managed to awkwardly sit atop the animal while clutching the reigns for dear life.

"Now what?" He stammered.

"Apply a bit of pressure with your heels and tell the horse to move forward. Don't be afraid," Ezio added, careful to mimic Leonardo's earlier words, "You need to loosen up. Don't grip the reigns so tightly."

"Uhh...all right. _Andiamo._"

Ezio watched Leonardo wobble unsteadily as the horse began a slow walk towards the stable gates. He quickly mounted the black horse and followed behind Leonardo. Suddenly, the artist pulled back on the reins to stop his horse and turned to Ezio with a look of panic on his face. He was slowly turning green.

"I don't know about this...The streets are awfully crowded."

"You're right," Ezio dismounted and walked over to Leonardo, his arm outstretched to help the inventor to the ground. There were far too many people on the streets, which meant far too many things could go wrong if Leonardo lost control of his horse.

"All right then. I'll just have to escort you." The assassin once again mounted the black horse, which was clearly stronger and faster than the gray one, and motioned for the artist to climb up and sit behind him on the same saddle.

* * *

Leonardo bit into the inside of his cheek as he and Ezio trotted swiftly through the streets. The agile stallion weaved fluidly through the sea of pedestrians and caused the inventor to teeter unsteadily. Due to his fear of falling off the animal, he had long since abandoned all efforts to remain composed and adhere to any sense of personal space. His arms were wrapped so tightly around Ezio's waist that it was a wonder the assassin could breathe.

"Just a bit further, Leonardo. Try not to break me in half before we get there. How are you holding up?"

"Fine. Just fine..." Leonardo was sweating profusely as he bobbed up and down on the saddle. His face was intensely flushed and his forehead was pressed against the assassin's upper back. He could not bring himself to release his vice grip on Ezio- despite the odd looks he received from people on the street. "Ay Dio," The inventor groaned upon hearing the shrill giggles of a group of amused courtesans that watched the duo pass by.

Eventually, Leonardo grew comfortable enough to relax slightly and appreciate the view of his surroundings. In the distance, the Pantheon's majestic high dome jutted above the surrounding architecture. The boldness and ingenuity of the Pantheon's design was awe-inspiring to the artist, and he could just picture standing within the sacred building, basking in the light of the open oculus above him. Eventually, shops and buildings began to take on a more derelict and decrepit appearance, until boarded up and crumbling edifices could be seen at every corner. The attitude of the people they passed on the street even began to change, with less of them conversing idly and more of them walking quickly as if unwilling to linger in the area. Leonardo felt an inexplicable shiver wrack through him.

"Merda," Ezio's low grumble only served to magnify the artist's growing wariness, and it was then that Leonardo caught a glimpse of the approaching danger. The assassin quickly veered the horse off the main road and into a narrower side street to avoid a patrol of six guards, who marched in formation with weapons drawn. Ezio had been in Rome for several weeks. Wanted posters had been popping up more and more frequently, and many of the guards had been given orders to actively seek him out.

"What's going on?" Leonardo's heart rate picked up as the guards began making their way towards them.

"Nothing. We're just going to take a little detour." The assassin continued to lead the horse through the twisting side streets. He didn't allow any hint of concern to show through in his voice, despite the clang of metal armor growing louder behind them.

"Are they following us?" The inventor whispered, unwilling to turn around and actually confirm his growing fear.

"Don't panic. I'll get us out of this mess." Ezio increased the horse's pace ever so slightly, placing more distance between themselves and the guards while avoiding the suspicion that would have been created had he chosen to bring the horse to a full gallop. They rounded a corner only to find even more groups of guards marching around an open courtyard. They too had their weapons drawn.

Leonardo fidgeted slightly and curled his fingers nervously around Ezio's cape as the assassin brought the horse to a slow walk once more. It was then that the unnerving caws of a large group of crows could be heard, and the artist looked up to see the flock of ebony birds circling around a tower adorned on all sides with flags and banners that bore the Borgia's insignia.

"That would explain why all of our friends have come out to play," Ezio mumbled, more to himself than to Leonardo, though the inventor was pressed so closely behind him as to hear every word.

Machiavelli had told Ezio that greedy, power hungry guard captains had been laying claim to numerous districts throughout the city, corrupting and leeching the life out of everything that lay beneath the oppressive shadows of their imposing towers. The people were being stifled, and all of Rome was suffering because of it. He had more than half a mind to put an end to the life of the captain whose territory they had stumbled into, but Ezio's priority was getting Leonardo safely to the Palazzo. So he continued to lead the horse slowly, ducking his head once more in the hopes that they could slip by the veritable platoon of soldiers now flanking them on either side of the street. The only thing between them was the living, breathing sea of people flowing around the horse and nearly brushing shoulders with the guards.

"This is bad," Leonardo whispered breathlessly.

There was another rider behind them on a white horse, and the assassin allowed the man to ride up along side him to detract some attention away from himself and Leonardo. They had just trotted past a particularly large group of soldiers when suddenly something plummeted from a rooftop onto the street in front of the horses, causing them both to rear up in fear.

"Shit!" Ezio snarled as he tried to calm his horse, pulling tightly on the reins to prevent from falling off the panicked animal. Leonardo could not hold tight enough and fell backwards to the ground. The artist rolled quickly to avoid being trampled by solid hooves, only to send several people in the crowd tumbling down onto him. The commotion drew the attention of all the guards, who began running swiftly with weapons drawn.

"Thief! Somebody stop him!" An archer called out from above, pointing in Ezio's direction. The assassin looked down at the ground for the source of the growing chaos and saw a figure rise from the street. Small and lanky, a young man in ragged clothes and a beanie-like cap shoved past Ezio's horse and disappeared into the stampede of frightened and agitated people all clamoring to get out of the way of the guards.

Half of those guards broke off after the thief, inelegantly plowing through groups of men, women, and children in their frantic pursuit. The rest locked onto Ezio, noting how he matched the description of the man in white they had been told to look out for.

Leonardo floundered awkwardly as he tried his best not to get trampled by the crowd. Amidst the sea of pounding legs, a pair of strong arms reached out to grab him and half-dragged, half-carried him out of the street and into an alley. He could hear the guards shouting curses behind them, but before Leonardo could catch his breath, or even acknowledge that it was Ezio who had saved him, he was tossed like a sack of grain into a hay cart.

"I'll be back to get you soon. Do _not_ move from this spot," the assassin demanded.

Leonardo was about to protest once he had cleared his tongue of a mouthful of hay, but Ezio's rapid footsteps had already faded into obscurity. He felt the overwhelming desire follow his friend, but what could he possibly do to help? He begrudgingly decided to obey Ezio's order and remained submerged on his back in the hay for what seemed like a dreadful eternity. He was about to stir when he finally heard footsteps once more approaching his hiding spot, but the cold, steel length of a halberd pierced through the hay so terrifyingly close to his face that he could feel that a few hairs had been sliced from his chin by the pole weapon's blade. Leonardo was paralyzed with fear, and he could only brace himself, knowing that the halberd-bearer's next thrust most certainly would not miss.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Quite a long author's note this time, so bear with me, please. First: a big thanks to my lovely reviewers!  
****Now, I am well aware that, canonically, Leonardo is a few years older than Ezio. However, I have chosen to make Leonardo quite a bit younger than he would be at the time that this story takes place. Yes, they are in Rome during the events of _Brotherhood, _but I personally much prefer the look and personality of the young Leo in AC2. So that is how I am writing him in this story. At the same time, I prefer the look and feel of the 40 year old Ezio in _Brotherhood_, so that is how I am writing Ezio in this story. So there you have it: a twenty-something Leo and a forty-something Ezio. The idea is totally inaccurate (not only in regards to the game, but also in relation to the historical events referenced in this story), but to me it's just total perfection. ;) Finally, I have decided to add action to the story, so as a warning, this chapter contains detailed descriptions of violence and gore, but I'm sure you all can handle it.**

* * *

The waning echoes that lingered in the silence startled Leonardo even more than the thunderclap that had pierced the air just a split second before. A bloody gurgle, a dull thud, and the piercing clang of a dropped halberd caused the artist to cautiously take a peek from his spot within the hay cart. He took in his surroundings with astonishment. Up ahead, he could see Ezio making his way towards him, little more than a blur of white motion as he tore through a group of four or five guards. Leonardo clamored out of the cart and placed his feet unsteadily on the ground, stepping in the growing moat of crimson fluid that flowed from the throbbing jugular vein of the halberd-bearer, whose throat had been blown apart by a well-placed shot from the pistol in the assassin's hidden blade.

Ezio was using his dagger now, slashing madly within the close confines of the alley way. He caught a glimpse of Leonardo, who continued to stand next to the hay cart with a look of mortified concern. Ezio gritted his teeth at the artist's failure to remain hidden, before ducking beneath the broad slash of a guard's sword. He jammed his dagger into the guard's leather boot. The tip of the blade sank into the bone with astonishingly little resistance, and the guard collapsed, howling in agony as he dropped his weapon to clutch desperately at the embedded dagger in his shattered foot.

Without pausing, Ezio grabbed fistfuls of dusty gravel in both hands and hurled them at three of the closest solders before lunging at two of them. With a flick of his wrists, he drove his hidden blades into the faces of the blinded soldiers, sending them lifelessly to the ground. The third guard was still reeling as he struggled to paw the grit out of his eyes. He took to cursing as the assassin disarmed him and shoved him forcefully to the ground. Ezio was normally above resorting to such filthy fighting methods, but he needed to get Leonardo out of the area as quickly as possible. His attempt to lead the soldiers astray had failed. There were far too many of them in the immediate vicinity, and more were on the way.

"Come on," Ezio grabbed Leonardo by the wrist with one hand and the halberd-bearer's dropped pole weapon with his other hand. The two men rushed out of the alley and into the streets once more. In their attempt to avoid being flanked by more guards, they found themselves inadvertently heading closer and closer to the Borgia tower. Before they could blend in with the crowd, two guards on horseback barreled towards them. Leonardo felt Ezio's grip on him tighten as the assassin ushered him quickly towards the side of an abandoned merchant's stall.

There were large piles of stacked packing crates that Ezio was sure would keep Leonardo concealed, as long as he could draw the attention of the soldiers away from him. Had Ezio been alone, he would have taken to the rooftops and evaded his pursuers long ago, but as it stood, he and Leonardo had run out of options. The thundering hooves grew louder as the horsemen drew nearer, their swords gleaming under the high sun. Before Leonardo could question him, Ezio handed him the halberd.

The artist caught a glimpse of Ezio's eyes, brimming fiercely with predatory anticipation as the assassin took in the sight of the rapidly approaching horsemen. When he turned to face him, those same eyes seemed to soften in a way that made Leonardo's chest ache. The assassin didn't say a word.

He didn't tell Leonardo to stay put...didn't tell him that he should retreat if things got ugly...nor did he tell Leonardo that the artist might actually have to use the pole weapon- heavy and cumbersome as it was- to defend himself if the need arose. All of it was implied in that stare- a stare that made the drumming of the horse's hooves against Leonardo's eardrums seem like nothing at all. He nodded at Ezio.

Then suddenly the assassin was off, unsheathing his sword as he sprinted away from his friend, directly into the path of the horsemen. His blade sliced through the air as he emitted a battle cry that sent a shiver down Leonardo's spine. Ezio's sword clashed with that of one of the guards, sending both of them reeling from the impact. The guard nearly fell off the horse, and Ezio stumbled before jumping to avoid the second soldier's sword. He rolled quickly, but barely had time to defend himself as he rose to his feet. The horsemen had already circled around and were nearly on top of him once more. They both swung their swords down at him, and Ezio had to contort awkwardly to avoid one sword and block the other with his own blade. He clenched his teeth as the force of the impact traveled down the length of his sword and shot through his arms and shoulders.

Leonardo's knuckles were blazing white as he gripped the halberd. A small cry escaped from his throat as he watched Ezio struggle to stave off the mounted soldiers. To his horror, the inventor noticed that three more guards were perched on a nearby rooftop, surveying the scene intently. They were leaner than the standard soldiers, with lighter body armor and helmets over their faces. The artist assumed they were there to intercept Ezio should the assassin try to escape via the rooftops.

Ezio sank onto one knee, bracing himself as the soldiers rode past him to circle around yet again. He had little more than a few seconds to aim, but he brought his arm up, locking onto the closest horseman. All at once, he leapt backwards to avoid flailing hooves as they charged at him again. He heard the clockwork mechanism churn within his hidden blade's pistol as he let a bullet fly. It pierced one of the horsemen in the chest and the man dropped from the saddle, his arm still looped through the horse's reigns. Frightened by the gunshot, the soldier's horse continued to gallop, dragging its lifeless rider across the street. Ezio recovered quickly upon landing on his back. He rolled onto his feet, ready to aim his pistol at the remaining horseman.

It was then that the agile guards descended from the rooftop, their wicked daggers drawn, and crept swiftly towards Ezio from behind. Leonardo could see them clearly from his spot behind the packing crates, and the artist simply could not stand idly while they surrounded the assassin. Mustering up as much courage as he could, he charged out of his makeshift sanctuary and swung the mighty pole weapon in a sweeping arc. He caught one of the agile guards' legs, simultaneously tripping and wounding the man. The guard let out a sharp scream as he fell, and one of his partners turned to assist him. The other continued undaunted towards the occupied assassin.

"So the assassino has a little friend now," the wounded guard snarled as his partner helped him to his feet.

Leonardo took a few steps backwards and held the halberd defensively in front of him. He took a wild swing whenever the guards got too close, but they were able to dodge nimbly and keep just out of his reach.

Ezio had heard the agile guard shout and whirled around just in time to block the lunging blow of the third guard. This soldier was built for speed, and swung his dagger furiously. It was difficult for Ezio to block every blow and keep an eye on Leonardo at the same time. He could see that the inventor was outnumbered and backed into a corner. Ezio continued to block a rapid succession of blows with his sword. This agile guard was incredibly skilled, and there seemed to be no set pattern to his strikes. The remaining horseman had maneuvered behind Ezio, preparing for yet another charge. The assassin swung his blade with enough force to sever the agile guard's head, but his opponent seemed to swerve and dance around every blow. Ezio broke away from his opponent to avoid the charging horseman, who galloped between the two of them, swinging his sword at the assassin with determined fervor as he rode past.

Leonardo was rapidly losing steam. The two agile guards were merely toying with him, allowing him to tire himself out as he swung the heavy pole weapon to keep them at bay. Sweat dripped down the inventor's forehead and into his eyes, causing them to sting terribly. As he squinted and blinked from the pain, both guards charged him. The injured guard was a bit slower, and Leonardo managed to knock him to the ground a second time, but the other soldier was able to outflank the artist and thrust his dagger. Leonardo dropped the halberd and grabbed his assailant's arm desperately, trying with all of his might to hold back the blade that was inches away from his neck.

Ezio launched his sword at the agile guard blocking his path. The weapon cartwheeled through the air before impaling the soldier through the gut. The assassin charged towards his imperiled friend despite knowing full well that he would be unable to close the distance between himself and Leonardo's assailant in time. His throbbing pulse rang loudly in his ears, deafening him to the hooves of the horseman swooping in on him from behind.

Leonardo's arms shook violently as he strained to keep the dagger at bay and winced as the very tip of the blade pressed against the skin over his throat, drawing forth the tiniest trickle of blood.

Ezio could not will his legs to move any faster as he sprinted across the street and readied the hidden blade's pistol for one final shot. He had lost count of how many bullets he had already fired; of how many he still had left. To fire the weapon and hear only the heart-stopping click of an empty cartridge was unthinkable. Ezio knew that the mounted soldier was nearly on top of him, so close that he could feel the forceful snort of the horse's breath against the back of his hood, and knew that he could not afford to slow down for the slightest second. There was no time to steady his arm. No time to even aim.

He fired just as the horseman charged into him. The pistol's sharp, piercing crackle drowned out Ezio's grunt of pain as the horse's flank struck him across the shoulders and knocked the air out of his lungs. The assassin dropped beneath the horse and onto his hands and knees. His desire to see Leonardo safe was what kept him crawling through the dust whipped up by the four hooves that came crashing down around him like deadly pistons.

Leonardo felt the rush of wind as Ezio's bullet shredded the calm air in front of him and passed completely unhindered through the agile guard's thin, metal helmet and into his even thinner skull. The inventor gasped as the dagger fell away from his throat. He looked into the blank eyes of the soldier, who sank onto his knees before crumpling limply in a heap at Leonardo's feet. While the wounded agile guard surveyed his lifeless companion with shock and awe, the inventor turned immediately to the spot on the ground where Ezio lay- now still and unmoving beneath the horseman's rearing steed.

As the horseman yanked on the reins to command the animal to trample the assassin, Leonardo grabbed the halberd and threw it with every last ounce of his strength. The seven foot long weapon seemed to travel through the air at an agonizingly slow pace, and Leonardo could not bear to look once it connected with its target. He didn't have to. An ear-piercing screech informed him that he had missed the soldier completely.

The mounted soldier found himself falling through the air and looked up to see the massive body of his horse come crashing down onto him, crushing his pelvis and legs.

The commotion spurred Ezio to his feet. He stood unsteadily for a moment, catching both his breath and his balance before making his way towards Leonardo as quickly as he could. The remaining soldier, whom Leonardo had wounded just a few moments before, panicked at the assassin's approach. He grabbed Leonardo and threatened to harm him if Ezio got any closer.

The assassin was through dealing with any more soldiers, and was beyond negotiating at that point. His blood-soaked hidden blades extended with an audible swoosh, sending sanguine droplets in all directions. He bristled with barely contained rage and produced a murderous glare that told the guard that he would end up in several pieces should he choose to harm the inventor.

Completely unnerved, the guard forcefully shoved Leonardo at the assassin and made a clumsy escape by limping away as quickly as he could. Leonardo fell into Ezio and wrapped his arms tightly around him. The artist shut his eyes to avoid looking at the unsightly remnants of their ordeal. The sight of the blood and the dead soldiers was nothing compared to the dead horse, its legs jutting stiffly into the air as it lay on its back- exposing for all the world to see, the halberd half-buried in its belly. It sickened Leonardo to know that he had been responsible for the animal's death.

Leonardo's tight embrace caused a searing pain to shoot through Ezio's bruised shoulders, but the assassin allowed the gesture to continue.

"I'm sorry, Leonardo," It was the only thing that Ezio could think of to say, "I'm so sorry." The two men left the area, eager to get away from the Borgia tower's oppressive shadow, and neither of them looked back as the flock of crows circling the structure descended to feast on the carnage.

* * *

"You go ahead...I really don't want to speak with him again," Ezio sighed once they finally reached the Palazzo Senatorio. He had tried to convince Leonardo to head back to the workshop after their ordeal with the guards, but Leonardo did not want to leave Machiavelli waiting. On the way, they paid for the services of a doctor, who treated and bandaged the small scrape on Leonardo's neck. Ezio had assured the artist that he had not received any lacerations, although his shoulders and neck were now aching steadily.

"And I'm sure he doesn't want to speak to me either," Ezio added. Earlier that morning, he had been arguing with Niccolò Machiavelli, who was now the de facto leader of the Assassin Order upon Mario's untimely death. Machiavelli had regarded Ezio's plan to recruit worthy citizens into the ranks of the Brotherhood with a healthy dose of skepticism. Although he had not forbidden Ezio from recruiting new members, neither had he offered to support the assassin's efforts. If Ezio wanted to do this, he would have to do it alone, it seemed.

Leonardo regarded his friend with a puzzled look, but did not inquire further. He simply rested a hand on Ezio's shoulder before rushing off into the palazzo's courtyard.

"My sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting. It's just that..." Leonardo cut himself off and bowed as he approached Machiavelli, who had been pacing slowly beside the courtyard's fountain for almost two hours. The diplomat and political philosopher observed Leonardo's disheveled appearance with a sort of stoic calm that betrayed nothing. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his neutral expression.

"There is no need to explain yourself," Machiavelli began tersely after noticing that Ezio was lingering in the background. The assassin had taken to sitting on a bench some distance away with his elbows resting on his knees; his eyes obscured beneath his hood. Machiavelli turned once more to Leonardo. "I have requested your presence here to inform you that you have a potential patron: the Gonfalonieri Piero Soderini of Firenze. I have the contract here for you to look over," he stated, handing the papers to Leonardo, "He wishes for you to paint a mural of the Battle of Anghiari within the Hall of Five hundred in the Palazzo Vecchio back in Firenze. Should you choose to accept, he will compensate you quite handsomely."

Leonardo's eyes shot up once he caught sight of the amount the Gonfalonieri was willing to pay him.

"It is an ambitious piece," Machiavelli continued, "Lengthwise, you will have over fifty feet of wall space available to you."

"Oh, how grand! I have never painted anything that large before," Leonardo beamed as he prepared to sign the contract. Indeed, even his enormous rendition of _The Last Supper_ was twenty feet shorter than this proposed mural.

"There is another detail that might interest you," Machiavelli added, and Leonardo detected the slightest upward quirk to the philosopher's lips- a diplomat's smile, "Soderini has already commissioned other artists to decorate other walls within the palazzo and, should you choose to accept, you would be working alongside them."

"Would I _really_," Leonardo rubbed at his chin. He could feel the anticipation growing within him, "Who, if I may be so bold?"

"At this point, I can only confirm Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni." The lengthy name rolled off Machiavelli's tongue with practiced ease.

Leonardo's eyes became saucer-like. Michelangelo had just unveiled his stunning masterpiece, _The Statue of David_, some months before, and Leonardo could not believe he would get a change to work with the likes of such a distinguished artist.

"And what will he be sculpting?" Leonardo murmured contentedly.

"Oh, he won't be sculpting. He will be painting, just like you, but the subject matter of his work is so far a mystery to me."

"Well then I simply cannot refuse!" Leonardo signed the contract with gusto.

"Very good. I will send word when everything has been finalized," Machiavelli stated. The tiny, barely-there smile once again flitted across his face for the briefest of moments before vanishing, "You have done much for the Order over the years, Leonardo, and it is greatly appreciated, but I am glad to see you doing something for yourself for a change. As you can see, this commission will pay well, and will do wonders for your social standing." The philosopher turned to head back into the Palazzo, but added over his shoulder in a hushed tone, "I was beginning to worry that you have been sacrificing too much of your time and talents...that Ezio has perhaps been asking a bit too much of you."

Leonardo's hand shot up instinctively to cover the bandage on his neck, and he turned to look at the assassin- who seemed not to have moved an inch since taking his seat on the bench.

"It would seem he has been particularly difficult to work with lately...withdrawn, distant, and stubborn."

The artist furrowed his brow at Machiavelli's words and tried to recall if he had detected any such change in Ezio's demeanor.

"The two of you are close," Machiavelli paused. His proper poise betrayed nothing once more, "but I would hope that you do not allow Ezio to rub off on you, nor to distract you further, especially considering the importance of this commission. Good day to you, Leonardo."

"Good day, Signore Machiavelli," Leonardo responded quietly.

Without acknowledging Ezio at all, Machiavelli walked briskly back into the Palazzo Senatorio.

* * *

It was early evening by the time Ezio escorted Leonardo back to his workshop. They had both had enough of horseback riding for one day, so it went without saying that they would make the return journey on foot. The day's events had left Leonardo exhausted, and he leaned heavily against his front door as he unlocked it. Despite being just as exhausted, the assassin had said something about needing to leave, so Leonardo had to grab him by the arm and lead him into the workshop to prevent him from wandering off into the night.

"You should stay the night," Leonardo was sure to reason and not plead with Ezio. The assassin wanted to politely refuse, but his neck and shoulders were now so stiff from whiplash that he couldn't even shake his head without winching in pain- which did nothing to convince Leonardo that he was well enough to leave.

"I'm fine, Leonardo."

"Ezio..."

"I really must be leaving. I have some things that need-"

"Sit," Leonardo commanded.

Ezio shot him a look, but did as he was told.

"Strip."

"_Excuse me_?" Ezio scoffed. Leonardo had to muster all of his focus to keep a straight face.

"You heard what I said," Leonardo continued. He had moved to the opposite corner of the room and began carrying a large piece of dried wood over to his fireplace, "I need to see if you have any wounds that need tending to."

"I already told you that I don't," There was an annoyed edge to Ezio's tone, but sure enough, he began removing his armor and robes, "I'm just very sore."

"Yes, but I need to see for myself," Leonardo huffed as he set the heavy log down.

Ezio groaned as he shrugged his shoulders slightly to allow the robe to slip off him. He had expected Leonardo to be a little shaken up by the skirmish near the tower, and was surprised to see that the artist appeared unaffected. If he was, he certainly wasn't showing it. Soon enough, Leonardo began looking him over with careful scrutiny.

"Are you satis-FIIIED? _Basta_! Leonardo, stop!" Ezio yelled once the artist took to prodding at the, tender, blue and purple skin across his shoulders.

"Quite," Leonardo quipped, "These bruises are horrific."

"Then why are you _poking_ at them?"

The inventor did not respond and began smoothing his hands much more gently across the assassin's shoulders. Ezio hissed through gritted teeth, wondering if Leonardo had taken leave of his senses, but he settled down after a few moments. Soon, a growing tingle of relief began to wash over him, intermingling with the pain as his tense muscles began to register the soothing touch of Leonardo's soft hands. He let out a small half-sigh from the back of his throat that quickly evolved into a full-fledged moan as Leonardo's hands traveled up either side of his neck.

Leonardo bit his lip as his fingers- draped lightly over Ezio's throat- vibrated from the contented noise.

"Massaging a bruise will help it heal faster," the artist stated quietly, his face growing red and hot, "If you still want me to stop, I will..."

"No. Don't stop, Leonardo..._Please _don't stop."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I will make no apologies for the following scene... x3 **

* * *

Leonardo had no intention of stopping, not upon hearing Ezio's deep, throaty plea. He beckoned the assassin to lay down on a small rug in front of the now roaring fireplace. Ezio did as he was told, lowering himself slowly onto his stomach. Soon enough, the heat of the flames served to dull the pain in his neck.

"Now wait right here. I'll only be a moment," Leonardo murmured before hurrying out of the room. He made his way into his kitchen and opened one of his cabinets. In addition to being an artist and inventor, Leonardo was somewhat of a collector. He was fond of pleasant, beautiful scents, and had quite an extensive assortment of perfumes and essential oils at his disposal. Acquired at the markets via trade ships from all along the Mediterranean and the exotic east, Leonardo used them sparingly due to the value and rarity of their ingredients.

He thumbed through the contents of the cabinet, his hands coming to rest upon a glass vial of rose oil- one of his favorites. The artist chuckled to himself. Although the scent wasn't overpoweringly strong, he didn't think it would be appropriate to slather such a floral, feminine fragrance all over Ezio's body. He skimmed over the lavender for precisely the same reason before settling on a small vial of cedarwood oil. It was heady, robustly masculine, and sure to cool and numb the assassin's bruised skin. Leonardo plucked it from the shelf and returned to the fireplace.

True to his word, the artist had only been gone for a few moments and yet he could tell by Ezio's deep, even breaths that the exhausted assassin had fallen asleep. Leonardo looked down at the small, glass vial in his hands and wondered if he should even bother to disturb Ezio. He knelt down silently next to his slumbering companion and merely watched as the ethereal fire light danced across the strands of Ezio's hair; along the chiseled v-shaped expanse of his shoulders and back.

Leonardo sighed quietly, hesitating only for the slightest moment before removing the cork from the top of the vial and pouring a small amount of the oil into his palm. As he rubbed both of his hands together to warm the smooth liquid, its crisp woody aroma permeated the room, blending indescribably with the heady smoke of the fire. There was a very real and very powerful desire stirring within him, and even as Leonardo's hands hovered a scant inch above Ezio's skin, the artist was wrestling with himself, with this new and frightening passion that burned deep inside him in waves- hot and raw and almost unbearably heavy. To be so close to Ezio, to run his hands all over the man in such an openly, unabashedly sensual manner, was a fantasy that had crossed the artist's mind on more occasions than he would have liked to admit.

Ezio stirred slightly beneath the inventor, taking in a sharp breath as he felt the other man's silken touch shoot along his tense, tender shoulders before sweeping unhurriedly up and down the entirety of his back.

"Merda...," Ezio breathed heavily beneath the artist, and Leonardo's ears tingled upon hearing what he could only describe as desperation in the assassin's voice, "that feels good..."

Leonardo took this as a cue to continue with even more fervor, and he began to apply more pressure, kneading the assassin's muscles greedily with his fingers as he smoothed them down Ezio's right arm.

"Agh..." A slight note of discomfort escaped from the assassin's lips, causing Leonardo to take pause.

"You must be quite sore. You were swinging that sword like a man possessed," the artist murmured, his voice a bit deeper than normal and filled with admiration.

Ezio was indeed quite sore. The rush of adrenaline during his stand off with the guards had kept him moving and fighting despite the pain, but now that he could relax, he was beginning to realize that his every muscle seemed to ache.

"I did what I had to do. You were in trouble," The assassin's reply was punctuated by a contented grunt when Leonardo continued down his arm, past his wrist to lavish each and every one of his fingers with the attention of those skilled hands.

The grateful artist smiled. If this was how he could repay the assassin for saving his life, then he was determined to do the best he could.

"Oh, God...yes...there, right _there..._" Ezio cried out shamelessly as Leonardo forcefully massaged the junction between his lower back and the top of his pelvis.

All of Leonardo's blood rushed south at that point, and his breeches began growing incredibly tight around the inseam. The fact that Ezio was very nearly panting beneath him did nothing to calm his now trembling fingers and wobbling knees.

Eventually, Ezio grew used to his touch, and had quieted down. His breaths became contented and even. Leonardo, who had become rather emboldened, looked towards the assassin's legs. Ezio had removed his boots and leggings, and his undergarments left almost the entirety of his legs exposed. The artist blushed fiercely as he contemplated turning his attention to Ezio's lower half. Surely he would be pushing some boundaries there, but the temptation proved to be too much, and God help him, Leonardo wanted to hear more of those wondrous- almost sinful- noises from deep within Ezio's throat.

The assassin's eyes shot open as he felt Leonardo's hands wrap around his foot, and his entire leg spasmed.

"Does it hurt?" Leonardo asked, alarmed by Ezio's sudden movement.

"No, it just- ah!" Ezio began to chuckle and tried to withdraw his foot from the artist's grasp.

"You're ticklish, aren't you?" Leonardo grinned. The revelation seemed to diffuse all of his previous nervous tension.

"Yes, so don't try to take advantage of that...I'm serious Leonardo! Stop!" Ezio yelled between a fit of laughter as the artist began tickling his foot mercilessly. Still on his stomach, he tried to crawl away from Leonardo, the sight of which filled the inventor nearly to bursting with amusement.

"Forgive me, Ezio," Leonardo chuckled, "I could not resist." His hands left the assassin's foot to concentrate on his ankle.

"Yes, you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit, Leonardo..." Ezio stated, relishing the attention being paid to his achilles tendon. The inflection in his tone was difficult to read.

"I- well...," Leonardo blushed fiercely at this. He didn't know quite how to respond. Uncertainty and awkwardness gripped him once more, and he was flustered enough to be frozen in place.

"Because _I_ certainly am..." Ezio continued quietly.

"Oh... you are?" Leonardo's voice was tiny, and he tried his best to hide his relief.

"Yes, I could really- _ugh_," Ezio was cut off mid-sentence as Leonardo's hands swept upward, past his calf and along his thigh. The sudden rush of pain and pleasure made the assassin's head spin, and he dug his fingers into the fibers of the rug, "I could really get used to this," he groaned weakly.

Again, Leonardo didn't know quite how to respond, but he was glad Ezio couldn't see the stupid grin plastered on his face. The artist was trying his best not to focus too much on the thick, muscular thighs that tensed and relaxed beneath his fingers, nor on the shapely, twin mounds of muscle just above those thighs- barely hidden beneath the assassin's tight undergarments.

"Dio mio...," Leonardo whispered. He stopped to wipe his nose with the back of his palm and was amazed when he didn't find any blood.

"Hm?" The assassin murmured drowsily.

"I think it's time you turned around, Ezio" The artist barely managed to avoid adding, 'for both our sakes.'

"All right," Ezio agreed, turning sluggishly onto his back.

Suddenly, their eyes locked, and Leonardo's chest tightened to the point where he felt as though his ribs would cave in. His hands continued to move, seemingly of their own accord, flowing across Ezio's chest. The dusting of hair sent electric shocks through Leonardo's palms that continued up the artist's arms. He could barely manage to inhale, the air catching uselessly at the back of his throat as the assassin's heart beat steadily beneath his palm. Leonardo's toes curled tightly within his boots as he tried with all of his might to avert his gaze, to free his eyes from the shackles of the sight of Ezio lying prone beneath him, his disheveled hair framing his face and spilling onto the rug like a pool of ink. The assassin's eyes were half-covered by thick lashes and drooping lids, heavy with sleep and kept awake only by the steady rush of pure bliss provided by Leonardo's silky hands.

And those lips...Leonardo could barely contain the whimper that fluttered at the tip of his tongue at the sight of the assassin's slightly parted lips. Maddeningly perfect in their shape and fullness, they seemed to be possessed of their own gravitational field. They were pulling Leonardo in, beckoning him in a way that he could not resist. It was a form of torture both wonderful and cruel, and Leonardo could feel his eyes welling up.

Ezio seemed oblivious to the torment he was putting the artist through. His fingers twitched slightly as he relinquished control, allowing himself to succumb fully to Leonardo's touch. His thoughts became muddied, thick, and slow, until he ceased to think of anything at all. Sleep was once again claiming him. His head lolled slightly to one side, his eyes fully closed, and soon the sensation of the inventor's hands also began to fade, even as they traveled down his abdomen, past his navel, and still further, further down...

Leonardo's own lips parted despite the alarms ringing and firing in his head, reminding him- warning him- _that this was his friend_.

His hands left Ezio's stomach in favor of the rug, supporting Leonardo's weight as he descended further, steadily breaching the space between their lips.

___This was someone whom he respected and trusted above all others_.  


It was simply too much for Leonardo to bear, too much for him to hold back. He closed his eyes as his lips ghosted over Ezio's, so close that the simmering heat of their breath swirled and intermingled.

___Someone who respected and trusted him in return_.  


Leonardo cupped the sleeping assassin's jaw with his left hand, his heart slamming almost painfully against the walls of his chest.

___He shouldn't be doing this_.  


He lifted Ezio's chin, their lips now a hair's thickness away from one another.

_He couldn't be doing this._

Leonardo pulled back at the last moment as his rational, disciplined mind wrestled to control the desires of his body, and the sharp longing in his heart. He loved this man, and he could no longer deny these feelings to himself. The artist's skin, his heart, his loins- they all seemed to be burning as he crept away from the assassin who remained peacefully asleep and completely undisturbed. It was as though the flames had leapt from the fireplace and onto Leonardo, his own passion threatening to consume him. With sweat trickling down his flushed face, Leonardo removed his cloak and tunic and grasped at his beret, crumpling it tightly with a shaking hand.

Leonardo had known Ezio for some time now. He felt closer to the assassin than he did to anyone else, and yet he could not be sure of Ezio's feelings for him. The assassin was open, and kind, and cared for him greatly, but did he _love _Leonardo back? The chances were slim, the inventor knew, and the risk of openly expressing the depths of his feelings to Ezio was a risk that Leonardo was too afraid to take.

The artist rose to his feet as a wave of frustration struck him. He had never felt so deprived- so depraved- as he was feeling at that moment. That he had even considered taking advantage of his sleeping friend filled him with shame. He threw his beret across the room in a brief fit of pique before climbing the steps to his bedroom as quickly and quietly as he could. He needed to cool off and regain his rational, level-headedness. He plopped himself onto his bed and covered his eyes with one of his forearms. After a few minutes of deep breathing, the fire within him began to quell, and was replaced by a curious rush of both disappointment and relief. Leonardo couldn't believe how he had been so nearly swept away by such powerful emotions. He had always allowed his mind to wander and explore and be free, but his body- and more specifically his heart- had known nothing but discipline and self-control ever since a certain incident that Leonardo wished he could forget.

He had been in love once before, several years ago, and his decision to express that love with a man he thought he could trust had resulted in terrible heartbreak, and a barely avoided public scandal. 'Never again,' Leonardo had told himself. Now though, the artist was realizing that it was becoming more and more difficult to remain indifferent to Ezio's presence. He sighed heavily. The assassin had somehow wedged himself into the Leonardo's heart- so gradually that it caught the artist off guard, and so firmly that Leonardo could not remove him even if he tried, even if he wanted to, which he _didn't_. Leonardo sighed again and rubbed his temples, an action he instantly regretted since his fingers were still slick with cedarwood oil. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts began to wander, not in an aimless way, but rather in a purposefully driven way. The inventor's mind was perhaps too sharp for his own good.

He thought about Rosa, the beautiful thief Ezio had met back in Venice; about the ravishing and cunning Caterina Sforza, and the many peasant girls from across the Tuscan countryside. Leonardo smiled the same small, sad smile that always graced his face whenever Ezio spoke of those women, his "conquests," as the assassin had called them before winking at the artist and playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Leonardo rolled onto his side with a groan, desperate to stop thinking about such things, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror on the other side of the room. He observed the sprinkling of thin, light hair above his upper lip and on his chin, the flatness of his chest, the straight planes of his narrow hips, and the previously aching bulge between his legs. He closed his eyes and sighed a third time. There was no way he could compete with those women. A lecherous gutter-wench had a greater chance of winning Ezio's heart than he did, he was sure.

A growing sadness had now thoroughly extinguished his earlier feelings of passion, and now that Leonardo was certain he wouldn't throw himself onto Ezio's sleeping form the moment he laid eyes on him, he cautiously descended the staircase. He noticed that the assassin was awake once more and was seated in front of the fireplace with his legs crossed, staring into the flames. He had Leonardo's discarded beret in his hands.

"Where did you go?" Ezio asked quietly without turning around.

"I just needed a moment to think," Leonardo replied, taking a seat on a stool a few feet away. He crossed his legs, folded his hands, and rested them on his lap.

Ezio accepted the inventor's reply, but he stared at him with sharp, focused eyes even as his fingers continued to worry the material of Leonardo's beret.

"Would you care to talk about what happened earlier?" The assassin asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Leonardo's breath hitched. The heat of the fireplace suddenly became all too warm again. Surely Ezio hadn't been asleep. He must have sensed how close Leonardo had come to kissing him.

"I am so sorry, Ezio. I got carried away and...and I didn't mean for it to happen, I just...you see, I'm..." Leonardo sputtered terribly, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball.

"You blame yourself, then? Why?" Ezio asked, his brow furrowed. He stood up and walked over to the flustered artist and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised when Leonardo flinched and backed away from his touch, "You did nothing wrong, Leonardo. You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, it is I who should be apologizing."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Leonardo was now thoroughly confused and had a feeling that the two of them were referring to two completely different things.

"It was my fault. Dealing with the guards has become a constant part of my life now. I shouldn't have endangered you the way I did," Ezio explained. He too was a bit confused now.

"Oh, yes. The guards," Leonardo breathed a sigh of relief, "That entire ordeal was a bit of a shock. I was scared, of course, but I must admit: it was exhilarating all the same. I am glad that I was able to help you, even if I was rather useless. The entire situation was out of your control. Do not blame yourself, Ezio...and thank you for saving my life," the artist added gratefully.

"And thank _you _for saving mine," Ezio smiled broadly, "You did well back there," He brought his hand up to Leonardo's neck, his thumb tracing slowly across the artist's bandage, "Just look at these battle wounds." His smile quickly died when Leonardo withdrew from his touch as though he had struck him.

"Yes...just a scratch from that coward's dagger," Blushing painfully, the artist moved away from Ezio to stand directly in front of the flames, his hands clasped behind his back, "Those men deserved their fates, but that horse... I love animals, you see... I adore them, and I feel terrible for killing it."

Ezio nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, but was utterly silenced once Leonardo finished his thought.

"And yet...I would have done it again if it meant keeping you from harm," Leonardo wasn't quite sure how he had managed to get those words past the enormous lump that had formed in his throat.

He turned around, and their eyes met once more- limpid blue and soft brown. Leonardo couldn't take it any more. He wanted this endearing, brutish assassin to shove him up against the wall, to pelt him with savage kisses, to press his glistening, oil-covered body against his own. He wanted to tell him how far he had fallen in love and lust, and wanted to hear those words in return.

"Is that too much to ask?" Leonardo found himself saying in a trembling voice.

"What?" Ezio was at a loss at that point. He knew that something was troubling his friend, but he wasn't sure how to go about asking what was wrong. Before he knew it, the inventor had grabbed him by the arm and was very nearly dragging him up the stairs to the bedroom with unexpected strength.

"You are exhausted, Ezio, and you need to rest," Leonardo stated, ushering Ezio into the bed before the bewildered assassin could get a word in. He turned around to bolt for the door, to shut it tightly- a protective barrier between himself and temptation incarnate.

"Leonardo," There was a power in that voice, a forceful command that stopped the artist cold. He had almost made it to the door. So close.

"Yes?," the artist groaned. He simply could not share his bed with the assassin. Not again. He wouldn't be able to remain composed this time.

"Come. Talk to me for a bit."

"There is nothing to discuss, Ezio."

It was scary how quickly the assassin rose from the bed and closed the distance between them. He took the artist by the wrists to keep him from backing closer to the door.

"There is something wrong, Leonardo. I may not be the most perceptive person, but I can tell when something is troubling my closest friend."

There were so many things that the artist wanted to say, but they all died at the back of his throat and he merely stood there with his head bowed in shame as the heat of the assassin's stare burned the top of his head.

"Say something, Leonardo. _Please_."

More silence.

"Was it something with the guards?" Ezio was grasping for answers rather desperately now, his voice tinged with concern, "Was it something I did or said? Something I didn't do? Didn't say?" The assassin was met with more silence- an awful silence that filled him with a sudden flash of anger. It was a silence that he couldn't stand- a silence that painfully reminded him of his own mother who for years hadn't spoken a word to him as she mourned the loss of their family. Despite his pleas for her to express her feelings to him- the sorrow, the anger, the hatred, the anguish- all of the same things that he himself had been feeling, the things that he had been forced to keep locked inside, she had remained silent.

He felt the urge to shake the artist. He could not tolerate that same silence from him.

"You can tell me anything, Leonardo. You know that."

"Yes. Yes, I know."

The assassin let go of the artist and watched solemnly as he turned away and continued walking towards the door.

"Goodnight, Ezio," Leonardo whispered before closing the bedroom door and descending the staircase. The fire in the main room was a pale, flimsy ghost of its former self and flickered weakly, sending deep shadows shooting across the room. He lay down in front of it in the exact spot that Ezio had been and watched the flame die, closing his eyes as the last ribbon of smoke ascended the chimney and dissipated into the night sky.

* * *

It was nearly noon when the artist woke up and discovered that, sometime during the night, a pillow had been placed beneath his head and a blanket had been draped over his sleeping form. He stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket tightly over his shoulders as he headed over to his small dining table where a piece of parchment from his sketchbook had been carefully placed. He picked it up and took a moment to observe the flow of words across the page and the shape of the individual letters before reading the note's content. He was pleasantly surprised that Ezio could write, an uncommon ability at the time, and was even more amused that the assassin's penmanship was rather neat.

_Leonardo,  
_

_Thank you once again for your generous hospitality.  
I will be gone for some time, as I have matters that need attending.  
When I return, I hope that you will accompany me to my santuary near the Tibre.  
Our time together has given me much to think about, and I have a proposal for you that you may find interesting.  
__I will explain everything later in greater detail.  
__Fino ad allora, soggiorno sicuro, amico mio._

_E. _

It was for the best, Leonardo knew. After what had transpired last night, he needed some time alone to clear his head and focus on his work. He had a commission to prepare for after all, and it was then that he remembered Machiavelli's warning to him. The assassin may very well have been a distraction to the artist, now more than ever, but he was a distraction that Leonardo was unwilling to rid himself of. He folded the note carefully and placed it in his pocket before descending the steps to his cellar and locking himself into the subterranean room.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait everyone. I won't bore you all with excuses, but at the same time, updates will probably be a tad slow for the time being. New characters will be introduced in this chapter, and in the following chapters. Some of them are OC's but I'm only including them because Ezio is recruiting assassins and building the Brotherhood after all. Don't worry, they will mostly be background characters and won't take over the story. The heart of this story is about Ezio and Leonardo after all. ;) As a side note, I will be bending and fudging and sometimes completely ignoring historical accuracy throughout this fic to better suit the story. I'm pretty sure I mentioned this already, so if you notice that something seems off, it most likely is. This chapter jumps between Ezio's and Leo's POV's. Hopefully it isn't as choppy as I fear it is.**

**Some warnings in advance: This chapter contains detailed violence, also more swearing than I typically write (due to the appearance of a certain mercenary). I do not share his opinion of French people. I assure you.**

**Anyways, to everyone waiting for an update- thanks for your patience. And a big thank you to everyone who reviewed so far. :)**

* * *

Ezio crouched on a rooftop adjacent to the imposing Borgia tower, mindful of the close call that he and Leonardo had experienced there the day before. His thoughts began to wander towards the previous evening as well- flashes of Leonardo leaning over him, the artist's fair hair and clear eyes reflecting the warmth of the fireplace's glow- the touch of his silken hands...

But the assassin would not allow himself to be distracted by such pervasive and confusing thoughts. He needed a clear head for what he was about to do. He watched a crow drift slowly past him, carried aloft by a steady tailwind as it joined the ever-present flock of dark birds that encircled the stone citadel. The surrounding streets had been cleared of corpses, and the fallen soldiers had been replaced by a new platoon of guards drawn up from the seemingly bottomless well of Cesare's resources.

The assassin could see them now as red pinpoints scattered on the rooftops to his left and right. He looked down at the streets to find more red- clusters of five and six marching steadily below him. He turned his gaze upward, squinting as the sun burned brightly. The glare threatened to make him blink, but Ezio kept his focus trained on the very top of the tower where five more beacons of red flickered amidst the backdrop of a black sky. One of them, an armor-clad captain, paced confidently from one corner of the tower's roof to the next. The large feather plume on his helmet fluttered in the steady updrafts as he surveyed the expanse of his territory below him.

Ezio closed his eyes, no longer able to resist the need to blink, and his vision returned to normal. All around him was the blaring evidence of Borgia oppression. The entire district surrounding the tower was marred by shabby, run-down, and abandoned shops and homes. Many of the people who lived there were depressed and down-trodden. One could not travel more than a block without seeing the slumped forms of starving beggars or hopeless working class couples, the women weeping and unable to be consoled by their somber husbands. All of Rome seemed to be suffering, and Ezio had to do something about it. What exactly, he wasn't quite sure, but he did know that the tower and its arrogant captain had to go.

A peal of unexpected laughter roused him from his thoughts, and Ezio looked down at the street to his left to see a group of four mercenaries loitering around the abandoned shops. Despite the early hour, the assassin noted that they were all taking swigs from their wine flasks. A pair of guards spotted the rowdy group as well, and they approached the mercenaries with their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Ezio could not make out what was being said, but he could sense the immediate spike in tension between the two groups. Apparently the guards wanted the troublesome men out of the area. One of the mercenaries, younger and taller than his companions, moved to the front of the group in an act of defiance. He said something, which caused another round of raucous laughter from the other mercenaries. Unsurprisingly, the guards did not look amused.

Ezio however had his focus set on the tower, and as he moved quietly across the rooftop toward it, he figured the rowdy mercenaries would provide an ample distraction for the soldiers. He lept smoothly through the air towards the base of the citadel. The palms of his hands were as rough and hard as stone from years of climbing, and his fingers latched firmly onto the jagged cracks and makeshift hand holds that jutted a mere inch from the otherwise sheer masonry of the tower's wall. He had made it halfway up the tower when one of the lookouts spotted him, and Ezio looked up to see four archers pointing their crossbows down at him.

Undaunted, the assassin darted swiftly from side to side as he continued his ascent. The arrows whirred past Ezio to the earth below, disturbing the circling crows and sending them into a frenzy as they flew faster and cawed loudly into his ears. His grip remained vice-like as he whipped around the corner of north face of the tower to the east face to avoid another slew of arrows. Hand holds became foot holds as he increased the pace of his climb, and soon the archers' frustrated curses turned to nervous shouts.

The Borgia captain peered over the edge of tower's eastern wall and pulled out his arquebus only to see a flash of white as the assassin pivoted around the tower's corner to continue his rapid ascent up the southern wall. Beads of sweat began to trickle down the captain's forehead beneath his helmet, and his attention was momentarily taken away from the assassin by terrible shouts from the ground below. A fight had erupted between the mercenaries and the soldiers, and the Borgia captain swore as he glanced at the chaos taking place on the streets below him. _His_ streets.

"Take care of the assassino!" The captain snarled at his archers. Fearing for his life, he opened the tower's rooftop hatch and descended rapidly down the interior of the building via a spiraling staircase. Deserted by their leader, the four archers exchanged nervous glances before racing over to their prospective corners of the tower and leaning over to pinpoint the assassin's whereabouts. One of them let out squawk of terror as he was suddenly pierced through the gut by a wrist blade and dragged over the tower's ledge.

The three remaining archers all whirled around to where their comrade had been a moment earlier and drew their swords, their tension and stress threatened to spill over into full-blown panic. The sun burned their eyes as they waited several agonizing moments with trepidation for the hooded figure to make a move.

"Show yourself, assassino!" One of them shouted, his voice cracking.

As if bidden by the command, a hidden blade shot up from the ledge behind the guard that had spoken, wedging itself into the small gap between the vertebrae of his mid back. Unlike the first guard, he didn't have time to scream before he was hauled over the edge of the citadel.

"Dio..." One of the two remaining guards let out a trembling whisper as Ezio finally revealed himself by springing over the ledge of the tower and onto its flat roof in a crouch. The guard pushed his fellow soldier out of the way and nearly leapt down the hatch that his captain had used to make his way down to the streets. The remaining guard bit his lip as Ezio slowly approached him with both hidden blades extended.

"M-misericordia..._please_," The guard pleaded, dropping his sword. Instinctively, he held his arms up to protect his face as he squinted his eyes, clenched his jaw, and turned his head away from the assassin.

Ezio grabbed the guard by the collar and lifted him up to eye level. It was then that the assassin realized how young and inexperienced this guard was, and how violently he trembled in his grip. Ezio grabbed the crossbow from behind the guard's back and tossed it, along with the quiver full of arrows, onto the floor of the roof to join the guard's fallen sword.

"Leave this place as quickly as you can," Ezio's voice was deep, low, and even, and the guard shivered at the assassin's ominous tone, "Do _not_ stop to rest, and do _not _remain inside the tower." Ezio released the guard, and the young man stumbled over to the hatch and disappeared down the spiraling staircase.

Ezio observed the barrels of gunpowder stacked along the farthest corner of the roof, and as he lit one of the tower's torches, he could hear more shouts and screams emanating from the streets. The assassin tossed the burning torch amidst the barrels before leaping off the tower and landing in a pile of hay. Ignoring the soreness of his shoulders and neck, Ezio emerged from the hay and ran towards the source of the shouting. The clang of clashing weaponry grew louder, not fully drowned out by the explosions and hissing sparks that erupted from the tower's now blazing roof. The plumes of heat from the lapping flames disturbed the circling crows. The tightly organized flock of birds dispersed, shedding masses of glossy feathers as they fled.

The assassin moved swiftly through the streets, weaving against the flow of traffic caused by frightened civilians. He could see the mercenaries, packed tightly together and surrounded by a now sizable group of Borgia soldiers. Their number had been reduced from six to four, and they were attempting to cut their way through a flank of guards to gain access to a narrow alley from which they could more effectively deal with the onslaught.

As Ezio drew nearer he spotted a trio of archers on the alley's rooftops that, unless he intervened, would lay waste to the mercenaries in moments. The assassin increased his pace, and with a running leap he quickly scaled a two story building and charged across its rooftop. The three archers spotted him and began shouting at the top of their lungs as they adjusted their aim at him. Ezio's feet barely made contact with the roof's tiles as he dodged and swerved around every arrow. He lunged into the air with both arms outstretched to either side and his knees brought up against his chest. Before the closest archer could grab another arrow for his crossbow, Ezio landed on top of him, plunging his hidden blade into the terrified man's neck. The archer dropped beneath Ezio's weight, and the assassin rode atop the man's lifeless body as it skidded down the steep slope of the rooftop. Just before they reached the ledge, Ezio disengaged, leaping across the gap between roofs as the corpse dropped, bounced, and tumbled haphazardly out of the alley and into the open plaza. A cacophony of screams erupted from a group of men and women who had stopped to watch the escalating conflict, and the crowd proceeded to stampede in all directions in a massive panic.

Still in mid-air, Ezio grabbed a throwing knife and lobbed it at the second archer, catching the man in the throat and sending him crashing to the earth next to his companion. The third archer could only stare, transfixed and paralyzed, as the assassin descended upon him. Rather than a blade to the throat, he received a boot to the chest, and plummeted to the street in a heap of tangled limbs. With the archers taken care of, Ezio dropped down amidst the chaotic skirmish and drew his sword, eliciting shouts of panic from the guards and a rally of hoots from the remaining mercenaries. The latter group seemed to instantly recognize him as an ally.

A sharp crackle of gunfire quickly silenced one of the mercenaries, who fell lifelessly at the feet of his fellows.

Standing tall behind the rest of his soldiers, the Borgia captain waved his smoking arquebus and barked an order to continue the attack. As the guards pressed forward slowly, Ezio and the three remaining mercenaries circled in a tight formation with their backs pressed against one another as they held their weapons up defensively and prepared for an attack from all sides. The tension was thick as both sides stared each other down.

"Get ready, assassino...," the mercenary next to Ezio whispered before he swiftly and unexpectedly hurled his two-handed axe. The enormous weapon connected with the closest guard, nearly lopping the man's head off as its bladed edge sank into his skull. While the rest of the guards reeled with shock at the brutal maneuver, Ezio was on the move before the impaled guard had even hit the ground. He lunged forward, cutting down two guards with arching slashes from his longsword. He struck a third guard in the ribs, knocking the man off his feet before whirling around to block a blow from behind by a fourth guard.

Another crackle of gunfire pierced the air as Ezio slashed away with his sword, and the assassin could hear the thud of another mercenary hitting the ground behind him. Muscling his way through the adjacent guards, he made a beeline for the Borgia captain who had stopped to reload his arquebus. Ezio surged toward the captain, wrenching the firearm away from the man as he kneed him in the chest. As the captain stumbled backward, Ezio flipped the arquebus and pulled the trigger.

With their captain's blood splattered onto their boots and greaves, the remaining soldiers began a hasty retreat. The assassin turned away from them to find that all but one of the mercenaries had been slain- the youngest one who had thrown his axe during the fight; the one who had most likely instigated the entire incident while Ezio had been climbing the tower.

You're one of Bartolomeo's men, aren't you?" Ezio asked after noticing the insignia on the back of the man's shirt.

"Si," the mercenary grunted. He had regained his composure and was breathing steadier and more slowly, but he was clutching his left bicep with his right hand. A steady trickle of blood flowed between his fingers, "And he is going to kill me for this," The young mercenary added as he crouched down next to his fallen companions. He began to awkwardly mutter last rites to all of them, and closed all of their eyes before rising solemnly once more.

Ezio contemplated the mercenary's words. As a fellow assassin, Ezio knew Bartolomeo well. Although the man was prone to fits of passionate rage, he was essentially an amiable- if rather gruff- individual.

"Come. I should take you back to him," Ezio stated quietly. The mercenary was clearly in need of medical attention, and the assassin couldn't very well leave one of Bartolomeo's men alone in enemy territory with more soldiers possibly lurking about.

"And you are the assassino, Ezio Auditore, are you not?" The mercenary asked, "Bartolomeo speaks so highly of you, and I can see why." He offered his hand and Ezio shook it. "My name is Benito. You certainly have my respect and my gratitude. Grazie."

"Not a problem. Now, let's go."

Benito hesitated and took one final look at his dead peers. There was nothing more that he could do for them, so he retrieved his axe and slung the blood-drenched weapon over his shoulder.

"Vendichero la tua morte fratelli. Lo giuro," He stated quietly before turning to Ezio and nodding at the assassin.

Ezio returned the nod. There was a strength in the young man's oath of vengeance that made him take pause.

"What were you doing out here in the first place? Shouldn't you be aiding your commander?" Ezio asked as the two of them began walking away from the burning tower. He knew that Bartolomeo was up to his neck dealing with Cesare's French allies and couldn't afford to have his men distracted and causing trouble throughout the city.

"Yes. I was stationed near one of the enemy outposts- keeping an eye on the French soldiers. But they haven't been making any moves lately, which means a lot of time spent sitting on our asses. So my troop and I...well we decided to have a little fun in town. Bartolomeo has been pushing us hard," Benito stopped to shake his head, "Non-stop training, and for what? To die of boredom out in the field? It is nice to relax once in a while."

"By picking fights with the guards?" Ezio asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"They were asking for it, though," Benito replied, scratching the back of his head, "And you know how weapons can...slip."

* * *

\|/

Alone in his workshop's cellar, Leonardo stared at the back of the abandoned painting he had hidden in the farthest corner of the room. Although the artist still lacked the drive and desire to continue working on it, he figured he should try to fix the painting- if only as practice for his upcoming commission. With a sigh, Leonardo turned the painting around, sat in front of it, and stared critically at the unfinished composition. Even with fresh eyes, he was still dissatisfied with what he saw.

In the center of the painting, a man and woman reclined beneath the low-slung branches of a leafy glen. Honeysuckle and vines grew amongst the tall grass surrounding them, and the soft light of sunset caressed their exposed flesh. The woman's dress had slipped below her shoulders, and with closed eyes, she averted her face shyly as her partner cupped her chin with his large hand. He was leaning towards her in an attempted kiss, his every muscle displayed by the lack of clothing over his upper body. The rest of his form, below the waste, was covered by the draping folds of a classical Grecian-style robe.

Leonardo was pleased with the subject matter of the painting, and with the color choices he had made. The transition between light and shadow on flesh and fabric was astonishing. Yet, the position of the couple's bodies was awkward, and there was something not quite right with the proportions and expressions of their faces. Lastly, they seemed to lack the sensual, emotional connection with one another that Leonardo was trying to depict, which made the entire painting fall flat.

The artist rested his chin in his right hand and tapped the fingers of his other hand against his knee. He felt the urge to blame his shortcomings on the models he had used. The woman he had chosen proved to be a poor selection on his part. She had lacked the patience and enthusiasm to sit still long enough for him to sketch her properly. He had felt rushed and frustrated, which resulted in a flawed sketch, and subsequently, a flawed painting. The man Leonardo chose had been a better model, but he had been unable to pose together with the woman due to conflicts in his schedule. As such, Leonardo had to sketch them separately which was the reason, he believed, their painted incarnations lacked a sense of unity and chemistry.

Tired of over-thinking, Leonardo picked up his palette and a thick brush. He began to slowly and deliberately cover the woman's form with fresh layers of paint. He would have to rework her if he wanted to salvage this painting, and soon she had been reduced to nothing more than a flesh-colored silhouette. Leonardo paused. He lacked the time and the desire to find another young lady to model for him, so he began to paint her form into a more fluid and graceful shape using only the familiarity of his mind's eye with the proportions of the human body.

Leonardo stopped abruptly when it came time to re-address the lady's face. It was one thing to improvise the body, but the face, with all of its intricacies and subtleties was another matter entirely. The artist thought for a moment before placing his paint brush down. Suddenly inspired, he removed his beret and calmly walked up the steps to the main room of his workshop. He continued up to the second floor and entered his wash room. Procuring a razor, he began to carefully shave his chin and upper lip until both were completely smooth. He then tied his hair up in a small bun and smoothed the front pieces over one eye with his fingers.

With a small hand mirror in his grasp, Leonardo returned to the cellar and gathered together every candle in the room. As he stared into the mirror, his fine delicate features were highlighted by the soft glow of the flickering flames. As he proceeded to paint himself, he tried to exaggerate the fullness of his lips and soften the contours of his jaw. After several hours of meticulous blending, he stopped to observe his work.

The inkling of a smile quirked the corner of Leonardo's lips as he stared at the 'woman' in the painting. She was now undoubtedly more beautiful and graceful than she had previously been, and this pleased Leonardo to no end, yet there was no mistaking the fact that he had used himself as the basis for 'her' face. The artist wondered if anyone else would notice if he ever allowed the painting to see the light of day.

The more he stared at the face, the more of himself he could see. Leonardo bit his lower lip. He had effectively replaced the woman in the painting with a portrait of himself. His cheeks flushed slightly as his attention turned once more to the man in the painting- who was still cupping his self-portrait's chin and leaning in for a kiss. A once stiff, uninspired encounter between a man and a woman had been transformed into a sultry display of homoerotic passion.

A shiver wracked through the artist's spine at the mere thought of the scandal that this painting would cause, and he threw a sheet over it upon hearing several loud knocks on his front door.

He wiped his hands with a rag as he made his way to the door. When he opened it, Leonardo was greeted by a tall individual wearing a gray cloak. A hood obscured the upper half of the man's face, and in his gloved hands he held a small wooden box.

"Your _package _has arrived, signore," the man stated quietly, his lips quirking upward into a sly smile.

"Ah, si. And here is your coin," Leonardo took the box and handed the man his payment, "It _is_ fresh is it not?" He asked as he thumbed the wooden lid.

"So fresh that it is still warm," the cloaked man's smile parted into an unnerving grin, and Leonardo tried his best to suppress a shiver, "Would you like to check for yourself?"

"No, that is quite alright," the artist stammered as he glanced nervously at the crowded streets behind the hooded delivery man.

"Good day, signore. I'm sure you will have further need of my services in the future. You know how to contact me."

Without a word, Leonardo watched as the hooded man turned with a flash of gray drapery and melted into the crowded street.

The inventor opened the wooden lid of his delivered package with great care after retreating once more to the somber solitude of cellar. After slipping on a pair of gloves, he reached into the box and tentatively removed what lay within. For what must have been a lot less time than it seemed, he looked down at the heart that he held in his hands. Indeed, it was as fresh as his hooded provider had said, and Leonardo could feel the heart's warmth through his gloves. Perhaps he should have found this fact disturbing, and Leonardo began working quickly to avoid thinking about why he didn't find it disturbing at all.

Leathery and bisected by enormous valves and flaccid arteries, the fist-sized organ had an unexpected weight to it. He drained it of blood- equally fresh and warm- before setting it down carefully on his work table. He then removed his gloves and began to draw the heart in minute detail, pausing every so often to scribble some notes and personal inquiries beneath the illustration.

Eventually, he placed the heart on a scale to record its weight and took careful measurements of its dimensions. He even plugged up the aorta and vena cava with pieces of cork and slowly poured water into one of the arteries until he had filled the heart to capacity. He then carefully emptied the heart, pouring the water into a separate vial to record the volume that had been held- a little more than ten ounces.

Finally, the inventor took a knife to the organ, slicing it in half from top to bottom. He peered with fascination at the bisected heart and noted that its interior was divided into separate chambers: two upper and two lower. With that he peeled off his gloves once more and began more detailed commentary. Flitting his pen deftly beneath his drawings, he filled the rest of the parchment with lines upon lines of his curious, backwards script. This lump of muscle was truly complex and efficient in its design, but was it really the center of one's emotions? One's compassion? One's desires? Leonardo's thoughts turned to the events of the night before: the warmth of Ezio's skin beneath his fingers...the sweltering heat of the fireplace... He listened to the quickened thud of his own heart and realized that such whimsical questions could not be answered through objective scientific studies. Indeed this latest experiment, as was often the case, had resulted in more questions than answers.

A dull rapping on his front door once again interrupted Leonardo, and upon climbing the steps to the first floor of his workshop and opening his front door, he was greeted by a courier with a letter addressed to him by Machiavelli. Apparently the commission for his painting in Florence had been finalized and as Leonardo read the letter, he learned that he could begin working by the end of the week. The artist was so excited that he closed the workshop door without giving a tip to the poor courier. The artist had already spent a considerable amount of coin for the heart and would not have been able to give the man much at any rate.

He began gathering his things in preparation for a trip to Florence. His plan was to visit the Palazzo Vecchio to get a sense of the work space for his fresco. He began flitting around the room, filling his travel bag with essentials. As he did so, Leonardo paused to reach into the bag. A small smile grew on his lips as he withdrew his sketch book. He opened it, removed the two loose pieces of parchment within, and stared at them for several moments. In his left hand was the drawing he had created of the black horse at the stables, and in his right was the drawing that Ezio had made. Seeing the assassin's crude yet charming creation did wonders for the artist's already improving mood, and when he went back down to his cellar, he mounted Ezio's drawing on the wall. That a parchment with simple stick figures and scribbles could provide a sense of warmth to the cold sterility of his cellar gave Leonardo pause.

With all of his essentials packed, Leonardo gathered up the dissected heart and carried it discreetly into the small garden behind his workshop. Already, there were several crows waiting for him as he approached. The artist wondered at the birds' uncanny ability to sense when he was finished with his experiments. He tossed the heart into the garden and the crows swooped down to squabble over it before it could even land in the over-grown grass.

He watched as what amounted to a week's worth of pay for the average Roman citizen ended up in the stomachs of three of the dark birds. Leonardo ran a hand through his hair. His experiments were costing him much coin as of late. It used to be that Leonardo was provided with corpses and organs by certain patrons who had considerable power and wealth, and so long as he could keep such practices hidden from the church and the common folk, the inventor had thrived while feeding his incessant hunger for knowledge. Lately though, the funding for his experiments had run dry and he had been forced to reach into his own pockets to satisfy his need.

This was why his commission in Florence was so important. Machiavelli had assured him that he would stand to make a small fortune upon completion of his fresco. As Leonardo turned to leave, he thought he caught a whiff of smoke and noticed that the feathers on some of the crows had been singed.

The artist locked the door to his workshop and proceeded down the street. Although he wouldn't be spending much time in Florence, he still felt compelled to walk the streets of Rome for a bit before his departure. His gaze kept wandering upward to the rooftops, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of Ezio, but based on the assassin's letter, the chances of that happening were slim.

After about an hour of aimless wandering, the inventor found himself in an unfamiliar area of the centro district. Because the streets and houses were well maintained, and many upper-class citizens bustled about, Leonardo wasn't worried about his current surroundings.

"Careful! I _said_ be careful!" a thunderous voice reverberated from the wide open doorway of a large building further down the street. Leonardo was leery of the anger in the voice's tone, but his curiosity kept him moving towards the source of the sound. The building turned out to be a workshop- quite a bit larger than his own.

"If I find even a single crack, I'll have you all hanged and gutted! I swear it!"

Close enough to see into the workshop from his position across the street, Leonardo had to suppress the urge to cover his ears at the deep, painfully loud shouts. There was a sudden shuffling of feet and a gasp far too high in pitch to belong to the man who had been yelling.

"That's it! Out! Get out, the lot of you before I lose my temper!" The unknown man bellowed like an enraged beast, and eight young men fled from the workshop as though their lives were at stake.

"Useless."

By that point Leonardo had his forehead and eyes peering around the door frame, and was greeted to the sight of a tall, muscular man who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a thick mass of black, wavy hair peppered on top by what appeared to be a fine layer of pale dust, an equally thick but cropped mustache and beard, and a pair of dark brown eyes that seemed to shine with barely contained rage. The man was breathing heavily, and sweat had moistened his torn undershirt which was even more covered with the pale, chalky dust than his hair. His powerful, broad-shouldered frame partially obscured the large, milky white object that he was standing in front of; an object that he caressed with a tenderness seemingly impossible for a man whose hands resembled those of a bear in both size and thickness.

That same pervasive dust seemed to saturate the very air within the workshop despite the building's spacious interior. It caused Leonardo to cough, which in turn captured the bearded man's attention.

"Do not try me. I would think that by now you'd realize that my words carry weight," the man growled, further enforcing the bear-like comparison in Leonardo's mind.

"I beg your pardon?" Leonardo murmured, as he straightened himself up and stepped fully into the open door frame. He nervously adjusted his beret before lacing the fingers of both of his hands together.

"Oh, forgive me," the man corrected himself quickly. He rubbed at his forehead wearily before stepping towards Leonardo, "I thought you were one of my worthless assistants," He paused for a moment and a smile spread across his broad features as he stared down at the shorter artist, "You are... Leonardo. Leonardo da Vinci."

"Si," the inventor stammered, "and you are Mi-"

"Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni."

In an instant, Michelangelo draped a muscular arm around Leonardo's narrow shoulders and ushered him inside the workshop. Before a blush could form on Leonardo's face, his attention was stolen by the milky white object in the center of the room, and his eyes opened wider than he had ever thought possible.

The object turned out to be a sculpture so arrestingly beautiful that it took Leonardo's breath away.

"La Pietà," Michelangelo beamed as he bent down to look into Leonardo's awestruck eyes, "I hope you like it."

* * *

\|/

"Ezio! So good of you to drop by! Come in, come in. I'll kill you if you don't!" Bartolomeo bellowed his typical greeting in a booming voice that echoed off the walls of his barracks at Caserma di Alviano. It was already mid-afternoon by the time Ezio and Benito arrived. "Can I get you something to drink? You can have anything you like as long as it's wine- Benito! What the hell happened to your arm? And where are the rest of your men?" The head of the Roman mercenaries quickly grew agitated at the sight of Benito as the young man followed Ezio inside with his head bowed and his jaw clenched.

"It was that French fucker, wasn't it!" Bartolomeo shouted, his face growing red with fury, "I will not stand for this outrage! I will have Valois screaming beneath me like a bitch-born whore!"

"No signore! We...we had a run in with a group of Borgia soldiers in town," Benito cut in, but quickly quieted down as Bartolomeo's face grew redder and redder. The mercenary captain looked as if he were going to have a stroke, and Ezio quietly observed the exchange with a mixture of amusement and slight concern for Benito's well being.

"In town?" Bartolomeo roared, "So you left your post, then! Is that it?"

"Si, signore," Benito mumbled.

"And the rest of your men?" Bartolomeo hissed through clenched teeth.

"Dead."

At this, Bartolomeo unleashed a string of outlandishly vile profanities that had Benito blushing furiously, and Ezio nearly choking in an attempt to keep a straight face. Although lives had been lost and the situation was indeed serious, Bartolomeo had a tendency to become quite comical despite himself when aroused.

"Benito get your ass into barracks!"

"Can't I at least have my arm looked at first?"

"Sure! I'll sew you up myself in a minute."

Benito paled slightly at this.

"And then, well...you know what happens next," Bartolomeo clenched and unclenched his massive fist in an unnecessary display of intimidation, "I don't lead a bunch of pussies like La Volpe."

The young mercenary turned and trudged down the stairs into the barracks, knowing all too well the consequences of crossing his general.

"Take it easy on him," Ezio said once Benito had left the room, "The soldiers were my problem. Benito and his men fought bravely at my side."

"I will take that into consideration," Bartolomeo replied, cracking a knuckle, "But that doesn't excuse him for leaving his post. I cannot afford to lose my men simply because one of them wants to take a break. So, what brings you here, Ezio? I'm sure you have better things to do than shepherd one of my insubordinates."

"How goes things with the Baron?" Ezio asked.

"Things have been quiet since the attack on Monteriggioni," Bartolomeo grunted, "Valois and his men have been eyeing us, and we've been eyeing them, but I have no doubt that he's planning something. I find it unsettling that he has offered his aid to Cesare so readily, though."

"That is because Cesare has promised him a foothold in Roma," Ezio paused for a moment, "I realize that I have to take more aggressive measures against the Borgia."

"I'm all for aggressive. You know me."

"Si," Ezio smiled, "I've made preparations to expand the Brotherhood, and I was hoping you could lend me a few of your men. They are some of the best fighters in the city."

"They are _the _best," Bartolomeo corrected him with a wave of his hand, "But, I'm afraid I don't have many to spare. Valois has us pretty evenly matched at the moment...but I'll see what I can do."

"Grazie," Ezio shook Bartolomeo's hand and turned to leave.

"As a matter of fact..." the mercenary general added, stroking his impressive mustache, "You can have Benito- once I'm through dealing with him that is. He's one of my most skilled men despite his age, but as you have seen, he can be lazy and is prone to disobedience."

Ezio considered the offer for a moment.

"He is quite skilled. I will take him. Perhaps with a bit of training he-"

"Whip that little bastard into shape," Bartolomeo grinned, "And, Ezio. One more thing," Suddenly Bartolomeo leaned in close and began sniffing at Ezio's shoulder. The assassin cocked an eyebrow as the eccentric mercenary general pulled away with a broad smile, "What _is _that smell? Trying to stay fresh for the ladies, eh?"

"Oh, si..." Ezio mumbled once he realized that a sheer layer of cedarwood oil still clung to his skin from the night before, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. This time, he could not keep his thoughts of Leonardo at bay.


End file.
